Long ago, it was decided by the divinations of science that the heavens beyond were a lifeless void. That was, until our father Archibald Crane—the first Skydiver—plunged into the Kosmos, never to return. Hansel and I would wait by the site of his departure, “Skyport,” for word. Months passed before the bottles arrived. From afar, they resembled porcelain crumbs descending through the clouds. We uncorked the bottles that carried his voice, eager to hear our departed patriarch. The only sound was contorted, ghastly screams that lasted a thousand days. Something in the beyond took hold of Archibald Crane.
About the Creator
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