Big Box Bandits

Acid rain poured down on enclosed habitats in some mythic ‘Earth’. Fire rained from the skies, let’s say, but as water would, burning everything in it’s path aside from the protective electric shield that diverted these death ray drops away from it’s center.

The center of this existence was where the living beings were. We’ll be them. I won’t describe this alien race, but you and I will assume the form of two of the beings.

You’ll be Marva, I’ll be Kent. It’ll be interesting, because these beings do not call each other by name, at least, aurally. These beings radiate color from their eyes, and it was very intricate and detailed, able to communicate such subtle nuance as an individual’s color, the color they were called by. There was no sound in this Universe, because these beings had a different interpretation of their senses, leading to a different understanding, perspective and consciousness as disparate elements of a larger cooperation.

I mean, there was sound, they had advanced enough as a civilization to produce instruments of detection that was able to render a soundwave visible, but they couldn’t actually hear things, because they had no ears, and so they really didn’t care on what they were missing out.

Since soundwaves were mapped out visually for these guys, their greatest songs were multi-dimensional paintings that could be appreciated for their symmetry, wildness or cultivation.

They didn’t sing them.

The End