It has a rectangular shape to it

I speak and it screams back to me

A million people running around inside





It tries to show me an image

But the people just run around quicker

The object sliding





On, a skinny, long, cylinder it hangs

On its side dangling

Holding on by its last attachment





The blue ball of fusion comes

through the long cylinder

sends the object flying





The rectangular thing

The color of orange and the thick red skin it has

Shaking paralyzed.





The people stop running around

I scream to it hoping it would reply,

It just sits trembling.