In the shadows of neon’s dreams

The fog wandered through the Neon Streets of New Ganymede, wrapping his tents around the wonderful monoliths of steel and glass that approached as anxious giants. Pulsing lights lit under the heavy smog of the electric dew, advertising any shock-from memory upgrades to sugar-infected synthetics-becoming the attention of inattentive measures. But none of them mattered to me, not like my kids’ grasping laughter.

Alyssa and Milo were safely moved to our creepy apartment, a barely larger space than a closet, but filled with more warmth than the glow of the virtual screens that were buzzing around us like an invisible bee. They were rotating with energy, promoting my rebellious soul, their gigs piercing the gloomy shroud of our world. I stayed at the small culinary counter, waiting for the thick shock of the sludge that called the dinner to boil, the mine of survival than the kitchen skills.

“Papa! Can we go out?” Milo’s voice hosts, a coil hope beacon under the shadow of our surroundings. In his cobalt blue eyes, bright regardless of the Drab environment, lives a greedy wonder. Alyssa, the oldest of a two -year -old, nudes her with games, adding her delightful enthusiasm to the demand.

“Just a little longer, my stars,” I answer, softening the lines of disturbance on my forehead with a stroke set. I can never deny them their desire for adventure for a long time, but the dangers of leaving outside were multiplying every day, shadowing and sung in life by whispered rumors.

The city was breathing around us, clashing with the circuit of a million lives, but there was a whisper of the secret laboratory, a clandestine operation for the toy with the structure of life itself. Some said they reaped memories, implating the knowledge of unstable minds in drones wandering the alleys, while others spoke of physical improvements beyond imagination. It electrified our lives, but the recognition of those my children were in the sense of her cold embrace filled me with a burnt fear.

Even so, curiosity grows like a tempter, and I know better than to think they will not find their way to this prohibited horizon if I limit them very fiercely.

The air thickens, immersed with prediction, while hurrying to finish dinner. My mind wanders, reproducing the daily concerns that dig with my mind – the other rent because, avoiding the excess bills that accumulate on our head as electronic sealed. But most of the scary of all were the stories I heard from the office down to the parking garage, whispered among those brave enough to dip your fingers in the dark water of destiny.

“They are turning the kids into a gun. You know,” said a neon -haired painter, his weak hunger frame. He would refer to the lab, his wide eyes with zeal. “Improving them, small brain sculpture soldiers for corporate wars. It is a nightmare.”

I would tremble again then, but Namha along with the clichés of disbelief – though I found at night staring at the delicate features of Alyssa, memorizing every freckle and curve, worrying about the future we could not stop. Waould what would they do if the wrong people put their sights on my children? What if it were asleep for just a moment, and my whole world was destroyed around me?

“Hurry, Pope!” Her voice calls again, much more persistent.

“Okay, well!” I answer, my heart was flying nervously, knowing our evening walk would lead us to the illuminated neon abyss. I serve our semi -burnt dinner on inappropriate tiles, small rituals woven into every corner immersed in our home. As we eat, I look at them with a look that holds more love than I can describe.

“Tell me a story!” Alyssa requires, eyes on with imagination.

I offer them narrow tales that do not exist in this broken, gray world, combining the narratives of dreamy invasions and fantastic spheres where justice was always prevalent.

“Are there robots in that world. Pope?” Mila asks, unconsciously calling an increase in nostalgia within me. He loves them – stories of mechanized knights and special friends.

“Of course, more than you can count, my brave. They protect the innocents with lasting hands. Their hearts are polite, light.”

It was a lie, a small one, but at that moment, I realized that I had to defend their innocence for a little longer.

The fall of the night opens its dark wings above us, the lamp lamps, staring at the lost stars as I take them to the clumsy chaos. Neon kills slide us as they dive deeper into the labyrinth of the city, leaving behind our upset reality.

As our laughter melts with the road cacophony, I try to keep them within the wing reach. At that moment, they are not children in an abandoned world; They are the heroes of my history, falsifying their freedoms among the shades of tread.

“Look, Pope, a drone!” Milo shouts, pointing to a little craft by immersing unintentional in the alleys.

They swallow the city, shining like fires of fire in a void, blurring the line between servitude and supervision. However, I can see the seduction in them while my children shine with wonder, approaching such technology without fear of its implications.

I keep my high guard, scared that if I blow them, the lab will whisper the secrets in their ears, will turn children into cars into the mask of strange heartbeats. They would be designing young people in goods, collecting children with synthetic themes of loyalty, promises dependent on humorous souvenirs.

But when Milo suddenly fades the arm toward the horizon, the wide and pleasant eyes, I can’t stop it. The clumsy city melts as we get closer to the shadow of the lab, a structure wrapped in an endless stream of neon green light, where it crushed the scary windings around my heart.

“Can we go closer?” Alyssa asks, already opens in front of her brother.

I should not; We should not, but the horizon keeps something irresistible excellent, removing our breath, inviting us to look behind the curtain. I should let them feel the pulse of their world, right?

We are in the direction of the laboratory barrier, looking at the barbed wire that intertwines like a beast preparing for violence. My instincts shout at me, strengthening chains of concern for their loss, but then a uniform stranger comes out of the shadow – an implementer trapped in a chromium suit, dead eyes like internet space.

“Step back,” he warns, the voice without warmth.

It felt as if the unlimited invalidity suddenly came to life – a part of the fear that the nudes of my senses as they come back, the alarm painted through their innocent faces. My fastening tightens around Milo’s little jacket, pulling it on my side. The moment was fragile, vibrant and delicate. I would protect them at all costs.

“Are we in trouble?” He asks, the innocent Aquamarine eyes, and I can only shake my head while my mind competes through desperate opportunities.

“Not at all, my courageous explorer,” whispering, bringing them closer to me for warmth. “We are simply … by loving the stars.”

“Together,” Alyssa echoes in silence, faith by flourishing with familiarity.

Something deep in the depths of the lab, like the views of a distant universe – the laughter of a child entangled in savagery, staring at the nightmare of the nightmare became true. The excitement was much more than I could endure, something bigger than all of us, and yet we stayed here: a father who defended Light in his life from the darkness that rose.

I became a promise to them then, passing through the neon chaos, while the winds were shaken around us, keeping their laughter tightly inside my heart. The world can be made with wires and shades, however I would have love as a sword against the night of the tread – never leaving it pale, never letting it fall.

At that moment, wrapped in the pulsating light of fear, I knew we would write our tale. The one where families fought against monsters made in secret laboratories, embracing their humanity as they sail in this metal desert. Every day was a new page; Breato breathing can be a testimony of endurance.

As we came back to retreat to the breakdown of life, I could see vivid opportunities, as a holographic echo, glowing at the ends of our road. We were easily entered into the living chaos, together, ready for whatever the city could throw at us.

Author: Opney. Illustrator: Stab. Publisher: Cyber.