The Perfected Man-- rough draft part 1

It was all grass, long but thin wisps of light yellow-green blades blowing in the wind from the jets of their lander. The field was a large square that had begun to encroach out into the ruined buildings at its perimeter. The tendrils of flowing long grass slipped down streets and wrapped around corners, growing up through deep wide cracks in sidewalks and roadways. The buildings slumped, many had crumbled and large stones had tumbled from them, sitting askew with sharp corners jutting up toward the cloudless sky. Thin metal poles stood, bent, out of the crumbling stone and cement of the disused buildings. For endless miles from his perch inside the lander Tom Robleck could see the crumbling bones of an endless city. And then, just below, a single stationary man amid the chaotic sea of writhing golden green grass. He was clothed in only a single flowing robe with a muted cream apron bound about his waist. He stood, arms outstretched, his long hair blowing like the grass, his face up turned.

Behind Tom the pilot and his crew were yelling, as they adjusted for the unexpected gravity. By their calculations from orbit the planet should have had gravity comparable to Earth. However, now they found a much greater force pulled them down toward the empty field. Sudden, unexpected drafts of corkscrew wind made them drop, and then they’d jump, adjusting their thrusters. Every time they had evened out their decent a rogue burst would push them down. The humming of the black metal floor under Tom’s feet rattled his bones and made his skin feel fuzzy. The motion and a pungent odor of fuel vapor had begun to make him feel nauseated and light-headed. He’d put his head between his knees, and clutched the square cushioned seat he sat on. It was in this position that sudden gust had pushed the lander hard right, tipping it to the side so hard that if it hadn’t been for his already fanatic grip on the seat he would have flown out the wide open side of the lander. His head shot up and as the lander leveled off he’d glimpsed something. He thought it was a bright white spot amid the amber and green. His curiosity over took his acidic stomach. He clung to the handrail next to the gaping pod door and peered over the edge. Vertigo gripped him and another sudden drop threatened to throw him out. But he’d seen enough to know it was a man; an expressionless man waiting with unwavering everlasting quietness. Even over the din of the chugging lander engines and howling wind he could sense the silence of the man.
Finally the lander thudded to the ground with finality and a stillness that made his frenzied body’s overloaded senses feel like flames snapping in the wind. His fuzzy feeling fingers and vibrating bones began to calm as he sat in the pod of the lander, everyone else already having jumped to the solid planet surface below. He took a moment to breathe, and then with shaky arms he pulled his sluggish reluctant body up from his seat, and hopped down to the field below. Instantly he found himself immersed in tall, much taller than could have thought possible, grass stalks. The long thin blades batted his face with feathery lightness. It was wet around his ankles, and his whole body was damp from the collected dew. He flailed his arms and tried to twist back toward the pod of the lander. He could see the lip of the lander just above the touch of his fingers, and could touch it if he jumped. But jumping was difficult in the slick wetness of the grass floor. He could hear others in this party shouting, and rustling through the grass.
He lifted his leg as far up as he could and looked down. It was covered with a thin layer of gritty light green liquid. He twisted again to the lander, which now looked like it was even higher up on the grass. He must have fallen into a hole. The grass seemed to be tightening around him, stiffening. His lifted his arms over his head so they wouldn’t be trapped to his side.
Suddenly he realized he couldn’t lift his feet anymore. They began to tingle numb and cold as the wet soaked through his light boots and socks. Pins and needles crept up his legs, eating his ankles and then knees. The light began to be choked by the yellow whipping grass blades, which squeezed tighter around him, drawing him down. He tried to call for help, but his mind couldn’t find his mouth to form the words, or his lungs to push it out. He was numb up to the hips now. The tips of the grass obscured the bright sun above him, swaying above him. The edges of his sight began to blacken and the hole above him suddenly felt like it should have been down, and that he was being pulled up into a thick thatch of soft moist hair, which twisted tighter and tighter around his paralyzed legs. His head reeled, and his sight blurred. What was going on? Where was he? The hole below him became overwhelmingly bright; he had to close his eyes. A spot of brilliant blue lingered in the black of his shut-eyes, burning through his eyelids. He relaxed though and drifted off into bodiless thought.





Then a dark arm reached over the jagged lip of his encasing and a hand took hold of his hand. The grass loosened and he was pulled up into solid ground. He was covered in the green up to his shoulders. He sat coughing for a time, filling his renewed lungs. The grass matted under him.
The man he’d seen standing in the field stood over him atop the grass, the blades barely covering his feet. The man looked down at him, silent. Staring. Expressionless