Rapture in the 22nd century

The prompt  over at Write Anything  this week looks at what the end of the world. (Given it was slated in for last Saturday evening.)

As always, this is in first draft format.  I have picked up a blog serial I used to play with surrounding Turion ( see below for more info about it)

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Turion wound an extra layer of think cloth round the stubs of his fingers and palm, allowing the ends of his digits dextrous freedom. The deserts’ chilled air had begun to creep into the cockpit and quietly numbed his extremities.

His constant companion, the tiny sound system only played three ballads and sat beside his head as he worked. He hummed to his mothers favourite philosophers fish bowl song. The words to Mr Floyd's song had never made much sense to him; but he adored his mother and the way she sang it. The light was beginning to fade and he knew he needed to work quickly to secure the spare parts the Village needed. A tiny screw fell onto the rusting flooring of the shuttle. Turions shoulder protested as he twisted to retrieve it, secreting it in his cargo pants.Although he thought the elders mightn’t be worried about his keeping it; Turion wasn’t going to take any chances. he had plenty of little projects which he could use extra parts like the screw in.

The next philosophers work thumped out its tune proclaiming joy for the end of the world. Turion grinned. For learned people, Mr Floyd and Mr Rem and had a grim grasp on their future; his past. Turion looked about the cockpit and wondered what other secrets from the 21st century lay hidden inside the wreckage. He squinted at the wiring above his head. “It will have to wait till tomorrow.” He twisted his tool delicately.  “There you are my beauty.” Turions face lit up as he carefully wriggled the circuit board free from its cradle. 

He tucked it into his backpack and picked his way through the field littered with battle-scared and defunct robots and pieces of transporters. Apart from Chrishmash; May the 24th or Rapture Night was his favourite festival. He hoped to boost the sound from his system so that the entire Village square could share the three ballads from the 21st Century. Perhaps this year, the storyteller would share more about life in the citadel, or about the perfect life humans led in the 20th century. Turion rubbed his malformed legs. Perhaps this year, his mother would speak about the endless water inside the citadel. He squeezed himself and grinned. Turion didn’t mind who told a story. Rapture Night was perfect.

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This is a first draft.

PROMPT: 

The end of the world has been penciled in by a number of religions and groups. How is your character preparing for it?

Authors Note: some background history which has come to me about Turion - in no particular order here are some of the other short stories about Turions world.

Wish you were here
Stranger
Pining for the moon
Chrismis

The beginning 

Ana Asraf 

Story inspired by the [Fiction Friday] prompt at Write Anything  and submitted to JM Strother’s #FridayFlash via Twitter. 

I do plan for this story to be recorded and posted up for Spoken Sunday via Audio Boo at a later stage.... whether it happens or not is a different matter.