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Voyage Into Oblivion
Silence was draped over the Space Next launch sight like a hospital blanket over a coded patient. The streamlined S.R.V or Shuttle Retrieval Vehicle had been built even as the efforts of corporate elites such as Musk and Bezos were sending vessels. into space. No one thought the craft would need to be used, until now.
The bullet-esque shuttle was dropped gently on the tarmac before the SRV pilots steered the rescue vehicle back to its own launch pad. A small army of figures in hazmat swarmed the craft. Inside were six bodies all male. They had remained in the ship at all times so none of them were wearing spacesuits. Their faces had been contorted into some abominable display of both bewilderment and terror. Scarcely did they look like the strapping ,young men, that brave all American crew who were eager to touch heaven.
In his autopsy the lab the medical examiner had to only look at the dried blood around the ears and eyes and nose to guess the cause of the death: internal hemorrhaging caused by trauma to the brain. His examination revealed a series of shocking discoveries that led him to keep his report simple. The crew was frightened to death. If he had known what had caused it he would have been curled up in a corner sucking his thumb or else on the table with the cadavers.
Six months ago Space Next launched it's shuttle, Prometheus, up into the stars. The world of space travel had become the next streaming war. Even a certain prominent entertainment company was looking at expanding it's cruise lines with voyages into space. It was a race unseen since the Cold War era.
Company upon company was constructing launch pads to raise their cosmic phallus to penetrate the stratosphere and violate the virgin purity of the cosmos and plant the seed of man's destruction on other planets.
Space Next had know idea its own two week maiden voyage would be doomed like the Titanic before it. It wasn't until contact with the crew was lost that Dick Corben, the founder of Space Next realized something had gone wrong. It took six months of searching via probing satellites but the Prometheus was finally found drifting ominously through the star studded expanse.
This latest endeavor didn't seek to colonize Mars, no. Space Next wanted to push beyond the boundaries of the milky way galaxy and beyond. They wanted to go to the very fringes of the universe itself.
Three days in and the two week test flight the experimental warp drive was tested and thus was the crew's fate sealed. The fabric of space seemed to warp and bend around the Prometheus. The intention was to come out of the Milky Way, drift around for a few days and head back to Earth.
Wherever the shuttle had ended up it wasn't the edge of our galaxy or any other. It was a psychedelic cosmic hellscape were physics ceased to exist. It was a surreal experience basking in the glow of colors not seen by man but out of those nameless colors came shadows that grew in size and form.
The eyes of the crew were blasted by the demoniac visage of horrors glimpsed by the troubled artistic minds of men like H.P. Lovecraft and Robert E. Howard but that were more terrifying in reality than Cthulhu or Set could ever hope to be. These were evil creatures or entities that had existed before even the Book of Genesis. One by one the crew began bleeding from ears and knows as their fragile human brains were overwhelmed by that which was not meant to be seen by mortals. One of the men just before he succumbed to his fate recalled a passage from Revelations: "They will wish to die and death will fly from them." These were clearly beings being kept from entering our world until the very End.
The crew was dead. The horrific sounds of these abominations replaced the screams of the astronaut's. Then as if plucked from the nightmare by an invisible hand the shuttle was hurled across the void and back into the Milky Way were it drifted in silence for six months.
The incident was the nail in the coffin for Space Next and would remain an unsolved mystery. To one man, a minister who sat on his porch on a rainy day reading the headlines complete with the coroner's report, it was no mystery at all. Next to him on the little table by his rocking chair was his Bible open to Genesis. He knew that Space Next had built a Tower of Babble and this time God had not confounded the language of the people but their psychies.
Erector Set Made Sentient
Human connection, that which CS Lewis called a "taste for the other." It can be a double-edged blade. It can be a sweet wine or the bitterest of cups.
People connect like the scattered pieces of an erector set or a can of tinker toys. The problem is when you get to know people better you also get to know their problems as well.
The Bible says we were made in God's image. That may have held true at first but now the image is faded, the masterpiece mutilated. What chewed up and spit out messes we've become. Visceral in nature damaged in mind. The erector set has given form to something both beautiful and @&÷ up we call human connection.
Escapism
I'm an escape artist. Yes sir, Houdini ain't got nothing on me! It doesn't take much either. All I have to do is force my mind to not focus on things I don't want to dwell on.
I crank up some jazzy lo-fi and I'm not here in this reality. No for a few fleeting moments I'm in a swanky night club complete with period accurate fedoras, and Trilbies. A smokey haze compliments the ambiance. The round tables are covered in Casper's sheets and surrounded by the various pulp fiction denizens I seated there. A man in a gray suit is smiling at the woman in the red dress. Her blonde hair is done up in a cute little coiffer from the 30's or 40's. She's giving the man a serpentine smile only a femme fatale can give,one framed by blood red lipstick.
In a back corner is some shady mobsters in their black tuxedos. Then you have me sitting by myself. In reality I neither drink nor smoke, yet here I am in a nightclub in the past that never existed. I'm slowly sipping the scotch. Yay prohibition's over at last. I puff on the cigarette and study it like it's assigned homework.
I'm doing my best to ignore the Marilyn Monroe wannabe in the white dress. Poor gal. She's a lovely dame but she's barking up the wrong tree. I'm strictly a loner. The case comes first anyway. What case? Doesn't matter.
Then the stupid ad cuts into the music and my little fantasy ceases in irritation. No more discount Capones or off duty cops indulging in the liquor to keep from going home. Thanks to the actor peddling his cellphone company on YouTube I'm no longer the gumshoe just plain ordinary me.
It's only a matter of time before those less than desirable thoughts come creeping back. When they do I'll be on another planet or in the bed of a lover I'll never have or back in a nameless nightclub in the 40's.
The Space King
I'm sitting on a throne. I'm in bulky armor of some strange metal. In my hand is my cosmic zweihander with its red, glowing blade. From my lofty perch upon a floating chunk of space rock I oversee my planetary kingdom.
Is this not who I am? Why do I have strange dreams like the one from last night? What was I then? That's right; a detective.
I was walking along some sort of grassy river bank with some concrete structure in the background an overpass maybe. There was a beautiful redhead getting out of the water in a yellow bikini. I was instantly drawn to her and vice versa I embraced her, tearing off her bikini top and kissing her freckled visage.
In that moment I saw a vision of myself on a throne. I was in a loincloth and my body was muscular and covered in almost serpentine tattoos. My hair was black and a circlet or band was around my head. A woman was at each arm.
I spoke to the redhead, "I was a lover and a fighter!"
"Yes, she replied but your love of fighting was your undoing."
Then I woke up.
What's this a woman in sandy robes and an odd headdress approaching my throne?
"You have questions, Your Highness. I have answers!"
She touches my forehead and I see it! I'm an ancient barbarian, I'm a detective in a world of superheroes, I'm a young man coming of age in an apocalyptic hellscape that was once Earth. I'm the leader of a group of superpowered genetic outcasts. I'm some rockskined behemoth, the result of space travel gone awry. I rule over a group cosmic gods. There's the redhead. She's there in different froms to but instantly recognizable.
"Do you see now? You're not dreaming you are seeing the other yous. For they are not all you but you are all them. There is an aspect of you in each of them. For you are a nexus that links them. Without you they wouldn't exist."
"What of this woman."
"She is me. I'm your anchor in each of these lives."
"Who am I then?"
She's gesturing to me. "You are eternal. You are the wielder the red sword. You are a constant, an ostinato written into the sheet music of the multiverse. You are Kirby the Space King."
This tale is dedicated to comic book legend, Jack "The King" Kirby.
Intersection
Crossroads. Intersections. At these places paths were chosen, deals were made and people passed each other for a fleeting moment.
The girl almost an adult now at the age of 17, in the black leathers approached such a crossroad that rainy night. The night was black as pitch, the clouds above obscuring the moon and stars. The girl looked a down trodden Joan Jett. Her raven colored hair was plastered together by the rain.
A shiver passed through her and she pulled her soggy biker jacket which had been a gift from her uncle around herself. That shiver didn't come from any amount of rain or the unknown that lay ahead of her. It instead came from the memory of what lay behind her.
She stood there shaking like a leaf with rain dribbling off of her. She looked absolutely pitiful. She didn't know where she was going.
What little money she had had already been exhausted three days back. Her feet ached and her body cried out in agony for nourishment it hadn't had for 48 hours.
Yes, the poor thing stood at that crossroads felling hopeless and abandoned by all, exposed to the predators both four-legged and two-legged that lurked in the shadows. She stood there looking ahead & from side to side uncertain where to go.
Was that a motor? Was that headlights. Yes. The semi came to halt on the the path to her left and she shield her puffy eyes from the headlights that illuminated her. The driver door opened and a stout man in jeans, a dark gray shirt and a baseball cap jumped down. He was in his late forties with salt and pepper already present in the well groomed beared.
She should run but she knew she'd not get very far she was about to collapse from exhaustion. "Can I offer you a lift little missy?"
She was hesitant. This was stupid. She asked, How do I know I know you're not a rapist or a serial killer?"
"You don't."
The bluntness of his answer made
her put her gaurd down just enough to climb into the passenger side of the 18 Wheeler. "Where you headed, Missy or don't you know?"
"My names Chloe and no I don't know I don't have a %÷+*ing clue."
"Tell you what. I'm making night deliveries to a distribution center for Package Express; that's my job.
I'm going to Jacobson. That's two hours away. It'll be Six AM when we arrive. I know a shelter there. I'll drop you off there."
"Whatever."
Chloe was too tired to sleep. So she just looked out the window but that was mostly just a formality. "My name's Trevor." The trucker stated.
She said nothing. All was silent except for the sound of the behemoth moving down the road and the rain hitting the vehicle. "How about some tunes?"
Again silence. Trevor didn't say anything after that for a while. Chloe noticed he occasionally frowned when looking at a picture of a woman and young girl around five maybe tapped to the dashboard of the truck.
She deduced the people had some significant meaning to her benefactor but it wasn't her business and she didn't ask. His wife and daughter, that's who they were or at least used to be. The ex lived California now, the wierdo capital of the USA. She took good care of little Chrissy and made shore to poison her mind against her father.
Trevor had been staring ahead for a century when he opened his mouth again. "I don't what you're running from, Chloe but it must pretty bad for you be soaking with rain water and accepting a ride from a stranger."
"You don't seem like a killer."
"Chloe, what does a killer seem like? Ted Bundy worked for a suicide prevention hot line! People aren't always what they seem."
"I know!"she snapped I know that dame well! I thought my mom would always have my back no matter what but she turned out to be a bitch who grounded her daughter for lying about her new husband just because the daughter didn't want a stepfather!"
Wow! He hadn't expected that. At least the poor bedraggled girl was opening up.
"What's this big lie you supposedly told?"
"That her Sir Galahad married her just to bang me. He told me on so one night when the two of us were alone and he---"
She didn't finish nor did she need to. Trevor vowed if he ever met Chloe's stepfather he'd slowly castrated with his grandpappy's rusted bayonet.
"Why not go the cops?"
"Yeah great idea. My mom totally wouldn't tell them I was lying or anything."
Trevor let the matter rest. Chloe eventually fell asleep. That was good. She woke up 25 minutes later when he stopped at a 24 hour greasepit. He returned with a brown paperbag containing two breakfast sandwiches. He was honestly surprised to find his passenger still in the truck. He was glad she hadn't vanished into the drizzle. He said grace and using a pocket knife he cut his sandwich in half and gave a portion to Chloe with her own whole sandwich.
"You need that more than I do."
She didn't protest.
Finally around six. Trevor dropped off the packages and drove Chloe to the shelter. He gave her some money. Enough for a hotel room and a change of clothes.
"You'll be in my prayers Chloe."and he drove off into the lush orange sunrise.
Crossroads. Intersections. At these places, deals are made, paths are chosen, and people pass each other for a fleeting moment, people like a lonely trucker and destitute runaway.
Head Long Plunge
It's no secret that the world seems to crumbled more each day like a wooden bridge in an adventure movie! I plunge as swiftly as Michael Phelps into a pool of words. My words or other people's words it matters not. Reading and writing help me escape. My job keeps my mind busy but working everyday with children and teens screwed over by society and parents alike makes me want escape more.
So whether it's the sound and philosophical fury of Metalica or absolutely mind numbing creature features or the written word, I get by as best I can... waiting for that better tomorrow I've heard so much about.
Spring Anew
The temps have risen pleasantly.
The birds have sung gaily.
The grass has greeted up again.
Spring is back.
God's blessing of rebirth after winter.
The cycle has sprung anew.
The Robin's fly.
Newborns come forth.
Recreation and procreation.
The birds and bees.
Proposals and marriages.
Friend's move away.
All things new.
Welcome back, spring.
Grandpa
The truth is often said in jest. That little slice of wisdom come from HG Welles at the end of War of The Worlds!
I recall the night I was telling my visiting grandparents a story from my Boy Scout trip. It was a campfire tell and how much of it is fact I don't know. Anyways, each time I tried to tell it my grandpa would interupt wanting more details: what was his skin color, did he have a gold tooth, things like that.
He was of course doing this to mess with me. But now that I weave a tale now and then I understand how those little details my grandpa demanded to know make the difference.
Love Sucks
I managed to beat the wrap via “reason of insanity.” I suppose it did seem insane to those folks in the court. I escaped after the trial, for I couldn't be confined to a loony bin because I have work to do. It started when I met an absolute bombshell of a woman! She was my lover but no more.
Sarah Fillion and I met beneath the canopy of a bus stop while trying to avoid the pelting deluge from above. She had sensual, curvaceous hips, a very full bosom, hair like blackened smoke. Her eyes were dark and seemed to radiate shyness. Between the shy eyes and thin sexy lips was a regal nose that could have been at home a sculpture of a Caesar. She seemed almost too good to be true and that was perhaps the first sign that she was!
While it rained the proverbial cats and dogs we struck up a conversation; it was better than standing in awkward silence. We discovered we had much in common and that chance meeting was the first of many. What impressed me most was her trove of historical trivia. I'm a history buff and she talked vividly about some events and battles and political intrigues as though she'd been there. She was almost…. hypnotic.
Ours was not a whirlwind romance, it was closer to a full blown hurricane. Before either of us knew it we were hitched and let me tell you the wedding night was absolutely blissful.
Now that we were together we had to make some adjustments. I worked days at the local middle school. She worked the night shift at a 24 hour retail store. Still we found time for each other and for love making. As I said before it was too good to be true.
I ignored the first warning sign. One night I was really under the weather and couldn't get in a lick of sleep. I heard water running in the bathroom and hurried to investigate. My wife was standing over the sink and I saw a significant amount of blood. She told me it was a nosebleed. I had no reason not to trust her so I went back to bed and once I felt her icy feet beside me I fell asleep.
The blood. I should have been concerned especially with the numerous reports I'd seen in the local news about people who'd been attacked and killed in the night, having their necks ripped open. At last one day I stumbled onto the terrible truth about my near perfect lover & that was by accident. She normally slept during the day. It quietly walked into the bedroom and decided to peek outside. The sun beamed in and I heard a sizzling sound followed by an ungodly scream.
My wife sat up in bed. I saw a burn on her leg. Her eyes changed colors and as she breathed heavy breaths I saw fangs. “Wait this means you're a…”
“Yes lover. I'm a vampire and there is one last formality for us to deal with. I must turn you so we can spend centuries together!”
I was in a panic. The woman I'd laid with and wedded was a blood drinking she-fiend. Desperate, I flung open the curtain and the sun hit her full center. So I watched either in shock or stoicism as she burned to a crisp screaming.
That's the part they would not believe. They thought in a fit of insanity I set her on fire. It's OK I escaped. Now I'm a fugitive but I can't stop until I've done my holy work. There's more of her kind out there and I must slay them.