Our Kingdom of Dust by Leonard Kinsey Read Free Book Online Page B

bastardized somehow. A wrinkled guidebook skittered along the ground, being dragged around by the wind. I caught it, picked it up and looked at the front. “Epcot”, it said. Not “EPCOT Center”. Not even “EPCOT”. Nope, just “Epcot”. That didn’t even make sense. It wasn’t supposed to be a proper noun, it was an acronym. What the fuck is an “Epcot”? Obviously the people in charge of this place didn’t have any concept of what the park was supposed to be, or why it was built in the first place.
    “They’ve ruined my favorite place on earth,” I thought as I slumped down on a bench. Maybe it was best that my parents hadn’t lived to see this. A tear fell down my face, and that turned into a sob, and that became one of those heaving bawling things where snot bubbles out of your nose and your mouth is all contorted and shit. People were walking by staring at me, but I couldn’t help it.
    I couldn’t stop crying.
    I was crying because my parents were dead, and because Horizons was destroyed, and because I’d always assumed like an arrogant kid that everything and everyone would be around forever.
    If I’d known I’d never get to see my parents again, of course I would’ve spent more time with them, showed them more respect, told them I loved them more often….
    Anyway, great, fine, I got it: Don’t take the people and things you love for granted. Thanks for shoving important life-lessons down my throat, shitty lower-case “Epcot”.
    After what might have been an hour of crying, I composed myself, wiped the snot and tears from my face, stood up, and started walking again. The sun had set, and I had to admit that the park looked gorgeous. The crystalline Imagination building was lit a vibrant purple, and the fountain in front was glowing orange, and just then the monorail silently glided past, and it was all quite enchanting and very much like I’d remembered it. In keeping with my newly minted “don’t take shit for granted” outlook on life, I decided that even if the rides were fucked up and stuff was flat out gone, there were at least some things here I could still enjoy. I walked slowly towards The Land, taking in the atmosphere. The music piped in from hidden speakers was the same loop they’d always played, themes I must have somehow subconsciously stowed away, because I found myself humming along with every track.
    Walking into The Land I was blasted with a mouth-watering smell unique to food courts: spices and ingredients from all sorts of different cuisines mixed together into one whomping blast of olfactory goodness. I remembered I hadn’t eaten since my post-hangover breakfast that morning and was hungry as all fuck as a result. Thank God they obviously hadn’t torn out the kick ass food court on the first floor. My eyes were bigger than my stomach as I walked through the various food stations. I grabbed a ham panini, a bowl of Japanese noodles and tofu, a Caesar salad, and a Heineken.
    Sitting down, I started stuffing my face, barely pausing to breath. I nearly got through all the food, too, with only bits of the noodles and some bread from the panini left over. I washed it down with a final gulp of beer and started looking around.
    On my left was a big sign that said “Soarin’”. I didn’t know what the hell Soarin’ was, but the name alone bugged me because it was missing a “g”, not to mention the fact that they’d apparently torn out Kitchen Kabaret to build it. Under the sign lay a queue that looked like an airport terminal. I was just in an airport two days ago. Looking at the queue made me feel like I was back there again, like my vacation was already over and I had to go back home. It stressed me out. Soarin’ could go fuck itself.
    On my right, however, was Living with the Land, which by all appearances was the same boat ride through animatronic-filled landscapes and an honest-to-god futuristic greenhouse that I remembered loving as a kid. Could this finally