The road side chapel of the coast of a recently seperated California
I've always been warned about the beautiful architecture that sprang up around the crossroads over the trans pacific bridge. I was warned that it wasn't worth the trip.
From what they tell me in school, the trans pacific highway is a new part of interstate 40. Apparently some years before my time there was an earthquake that shattered the southern part of California. Whether the earth quake was naturally occuring or a side effect of the fusion plants that power California as of late, has been a debate for centuries. After the quakes, most of the land that Los Angeles stood upon remained in tact but the rest of that section of the state sank into the ocean; converting southern California into a chain sling of islands of which all are now connected by the trans-pacific.
For as long as I remember, my Dad wanted to pack up everything, buy a travel trailer to throw on the back of his '78 pick-up, and hit the road across country. I never thought he'd actually get around to doing it and more so, I never thought he'd convince my sister and I to come along.
My father did a lot traveling when he was younger and worked all over the U.S as an electrician. He enjoyed it. Now, he was having a blast showing my sister and I everything he'd seen and much more. So far the trip was nice. Roswell was my favorite. All the alien stuff was awesome. My sister enjoyed all the autopsy exhibits. She has always liked icky things and the occult. I get a little squeamish at the site of gore. She loves it.
I am really looking forward to our next stop, L.A. We have to cross the trans-pacific to get there. I was told by a woman in Arizona that the trans is the most amazing human innovation in history. Its not simply an old bridge that crosses from island to island. Some of the Trans' pathways stretch for hundreds of miles. Trekking across them in our pick up would not only be impractical but it would be dangerous and mostly impossible. Impossible because of the distance and because the Trans is more like a rail road system. The cars follow magnetic tracks that float on specially designed bridges, its more like a hybrid; one part boat, one part train, and one part hover craft. All the trans cars are powered by the fusion plants and move at incredible speeds, much like the old Am-track rail road speeding across the land of old U.S.
We arrived at the Tijuana port early this morning. We've parked the truck in a lot. Dad took care of the details. He also bought our tickets for the trans. He was excited. I was excited. My sister was really spooked by the whole. She had been reading about paranormal accounts on the Trans-Pacific all summer. Every time I would exclaim about the trans she would shoot it down by saying something like," Hey, have you heard about all the Atlantis like pagan cults that have sprung up around the trans. So many people have been mutilated or worse assimilated, never to be heard from again. This road side chapels are only the beginning to something more erie." She knew I couldn't take the blood talk. "There have been eye witness accounts by retired watch pirates and sailors, of new creatures mutating in the sea due to the fusion plants that power the trans cars. It's pretty wicked, big black creatures with bloody nubs for feet who have been known to ripped people apart and bounce them around like kittens playing with mice." This is when I stuck my head out the window and gagged.
Standing on the dock looking out at the sea for the trans, you wouldn't even notice the tracks if you didn't know what to look for. This is part of the design. The tracks are clear. I supposed that they were made out of plastic or something.
Abruptly there was a blast from the center of the horizon and soon after a sonic boom. The trans car smoothed up to the dock. The rattle from the blast was so strong it knocked my sister flat on her back. The sliding doors on the trans car opened up and a human robotic familiar gave us a welcoming gesture. A neon sign above him asked us to take our seats as soon as possible while a friendly voice over an intercom system asked us to buckle up.
Trans cars had reputations of being filled with thrill seekers and roughnecks alike. Upper-class folk, after all, could fly to L.A. The rest of the islands aren't what any one would deem as respectable places to visit. For the most part the demographic consisted of dirty sailors and ship workers to videographers and college students looking for a thrill, and one very bland looking humanoid robotic driver. Other than the people inside, the car resembled a school bus, bench seats and windows you could push up or down.
The door slammed, a buzzer sounded on the neon sign warning us to buckle up, and boom, the car took off jumping across the waves of the pacific.
- write about the black wooly that marks its prey with a sting.
- about the road side church cult and the body suits styled to there person
- my sister joins
- the architecture history
This is based on a dream and I thought I would attempt to convert into a story.
From what they tell me in school, the trans pacific highway is a new part of interstate 40. Apparently some years before my time there was an earthquake that shattered the southern part of California. Whether the earth quake was naturally occuring or a side effect of the fusion plants that power California as of late, has been a debate for centuries. After the quakes, most of the land that Los Angeles stood upon remained in tact but the rest of that section of the state sank into the ocean; converting southern California into a chain sling of islands of which all are now connected by the trans-pacific.
For as long as I remember, my Dad wanted to pack up everything, buy a travel trailer to throw on the back of his '78 pick-up, and hit the road across country. I never thought he'd actually get around to doing it and more so, I never thought he'd convince my sister and I to come along.
My father did a lot traveling when he was younger and worked all over the U.S as an electrician. He enjoyed it. Now, he was having a blast showing my sister and I everything he'd seen and much more. So far the trip was nice. Roswell was my favorite. All the alien stuff was awesome. My sister enjoyed all the autopsy exhibits. She has always liked icky things and the occult. I get a little squeamish at the site of gore. She loves it.
I am really looking forward to our next stop, L.A. We have to cross the trans-pacific to get there. I was told by a woman in Arizona that the trans is the most amazing human innovation in history. Its not simply an old bridge that crosses from island to island. Some of the Trans' pathways stretch for hundreds of miles. Trekking across them in our pick up would not only be impractical but it would be dangerous and mostly impossible. Impossible because of the distance and because the Trans is more like a rail road system. The cars follow magnetic tracks that float on specially designed bridges, its more like a hybrid; one part boat, one part train, and one part hover craft. All the trans cars are powered by the fusion plants and move at incredible speeds, much like the old Am-track rail road speeding across the land of old U.S.
We arrived at the Tijuana port early this morning. We've parked the truck in a lot. Dad took care of the details. He also bought our tickets for the trans. He was excited. I was excited. My sister was really spooked by the whole. She had been reading about paranormal accounts on the Trans-Pacific all summer. Every time I would exclaim about the trans she would shoot it down by saying something like," Hey, have you heard about all the Atlantis like pagan cults that have sprung up around the trans. So many people have been mutilated or worse assimilated, never to be heard from again. This road side chapels are only the beginning to something more erie." She knew I couldn't take the blood talk. "There have been eye witness accounts by retired watch pirates and sailors, of new creatures mutating in the sea due to the fusion plants that power the trans cars. It's pretty wicked, big black creatures with bloody nubs for feet who have been known to ripped people apart and bounce them around like kittens playing with mice." This is when I stuck my head out the window and gagged.
Standing on the dock looking out at the sea for the trans, you wouldn't even notice the tracks if you didn't know what to look for. This is part of the design. The tracks are clear. I supposed that they were made out of plastic or something.
Abruptly there was a blast from the center of the horizon and soon after a sonic boom. The trans car smoothed up to the dock. The rattle from the blast was so strong it knocked my sister flat on her back. The sliding doors on the trans car opened up and a human robotic familiar gave us a welcoming gesture. A neon sign above him asked us to take our seats as soon as possible while a friendly voice over an intercom system asked us to buckle up.
Trans cars had reputations of being filled with thrill seekers and roughnecks alike. Upper-class folk, after all, could fly to L.A. The rest of the islands aren't what any one would deem as respectable places to visit. For the most part the demographic consisted of dirty sailors and ship workers to videographers and college students looking for a thrill, and one very bland looking humanoid robotic driver. Other than the people inside, the car resembled a school bus, bench seats and windows you could push up or down.
The door slammed, a buzzer sounded on the neon sign warning us to buckle up, and boom, the car took off jumping across the waves of the pacific.
- write about the black wooly that marks its prey with a sting.
- about the road side church cult and the body suits styled to there person
- my sister joins
- the architecture history
This is based on a dream and I thought I would attempt to convert into a story.