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Sad Girls Por Vida

On hold, line two, still crying

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David and the Astroman: Prologue
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So instead of sleeping like the responsible adult that I probably should be, I started writing a short story. Feel free to tell me that I shouldn't bother to go any further, because this is the first voluntary piece of short fiction I've written in years, and the first one that doesn't deal with suicide in probably forever:

David stumbled clumsily into consciousness around three in the afternoon on a mattress stripped of sheets. There were sheets for the bed, and they were even clean, in the sense that he washed them about a week ago and left them in a pile at the corner of the room. But David really didn't see the point in putting them on the bed, only to dirty them again, so on the floor they stayed, perpetually clean, perpetually unused. The only difference is that this afternoon, there was a cheerful man in an astronaut costume waiting for him when he awoke.

This no longer surprised David.

There really was no questioning whether this man was really an astronaut; his suit was not much more than a costume, and certainly not spaceworthy. The reason for this was simple: David had never actually put much thought into what it would take in a suit to keep a man from exploding into his base components whenever exposed to the void of space, so the spacesuit just resembled the thick off-white suits from the reels they showed in grade school. Sometimes, when David was feeling creative, he was even colored in rapidly flickering neon, like an early promo for MTV. Simply, his appearance was not one of a legitimate astronaut, a fearless explorer of the godless void of space. He looked like what a lonely thirteen year old might imagine an astronaut might be after a long diet of Ace mass-market paperbacks, Saturday morning cartoons and afternoon syndicated sci-fi, and years of parental neglect.

Coincidentally, this is exactly how McKinley, brave space explorer and David's only friend, came into existence.

“Hello David, what sort of adventures do we have planned for today?” McKinley asked in a booming baritone that reeked of optimism, apple pie, and a massive post-war economic surplus. “Fuck off, spaceman,” replied a groggy David, briefly considering the pros and cons of throwing a pillow at the grinning, chiseled face of the ever-cheerful astronaut before deciding it would be entirely too much effort to retrieve it when he wanted to go back to sleep. “I haven't wanted to see you in years, much less go on any fucking 'adventures' with you.” McKinley chuckled in the way that a man would at a racy joke on his favorite radio program, a wholesome laugh laced with mild discomfort over the fact that his creator was working blue. “But David, the coupons came in, and you know you are out of microwave pizzas! It must be serendipity, because Foodplex has a coupon for seventy-five cents off the asking price (limit five per customer.)”

Jesus, McKinley! I've been asleep for thirteen hours. There is no way that you could have checked the mail while I was passed out.”

“You were the one that was asleep, David,” Said McKinley, an otherworldly hint of malice in his voice that would have been drowned out by the pure wholesomeness of his tone to any other listener. “I've been here the whole time, and figured at least one of us should get a start on the chores.”

If you feel this is really going nowhere, please use this forum to be the first to tell me. Except for grammar issues. It is 4 AM, and I will happily drag grammar out to the streets to be shot.


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This is going places.

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