All tagged spacey

We Are All at Risk

Some people live like this until they don't live anymore. And then their bodies are peeled from the ceiling and bundled into caskets. Charcoal-gray suits and church dresses lined with lead to hold them still. Weight created so they are compliant and present in death as they weren't in life. Sometimes during the service these methods fail and the body bumps up against the lid and wavers a little, a sideways fish tank fish rocking stiff and lifeless against the glass. 

The Inventors

Finally we got the jetpack. “What took so long?” we shouted. “You senseless dolts! Is this the future or not?” We’d been shouting disparagingly at the inventors for years, long enough that it now came reflexively to us.

Out There

The FBI headquarters burned down while we were passing notes in math class. Meteor shower tonight, you wrote.Or so They say, I wrote back. Perfect cover for the landing. The principal came and got you and when I saw you after gym. Your eyes were red.

Banged by an Alien Again

We didn't have very much, but only because I'd discovered there was very little I needed. For instance: clothes. I liked to walk around the spaceship naked, to watch my alien watching me, his eyes big as plates.


When we found the mermaid hiding in the observatory, Mary was the first to offer her a place to stay, but as she was an insufferable busybody we politely declined her offer.

Monsters or Some Bullshit

First the satellites disappeared, and without working phones no one could call to complain about the buzzing, dancing static that’s drowned our lives. In the paper we saw pictures of flag-draped coffins, but those boxes were empty. No astronauts came back the last time—none of the monkeys either. Everything in space has died, which is weird because we did not know it ever lived.

Tractor Beam

I wanted you to save me from the tractor beam, and I hated that I wanted it. You stupid hipster boy who looks like a pine tree had sex with an Urban Outfitters. 


Before our evacuation, we sat out on the lawn together and watched trial rockets burn up on the horizon, gauging the risk of going away.

Space Boy We Miss You

Adam’s mother said he was born under a bad sign. She’d always thought it, feared it, from the moment he came so calm, so quiet into the world. He sat silent as a monk the first four years of life, utterly disconnected from the pacifiers and mobiles, stuffed rabbits and Duck, Duck, Goose! until one day when the words flowed out of him in such spectacular combinations the woman next to Adam’s mother in the grocery store dropped a box of cornmeal to the floor and it exploded in a yellow cloud and she exclaimed, He’s a little professor man!

8 > ∞

When I first heard they were sending an octopus into space, it sounded like a James Bond movie. The eight legs of it pressing levers and pulling decelerators and twisting valves and recording oxygen levels and adjusting manifolds and toggling toggles and jotting down memoirs and scratching itself. The bulbous bubble of its helmet resting on its bulbous head.


When Ben got back from the moon he was a total jerk about it.

“Being an astronaut is never like you think,” he’d say. Or, “The moon is a mysterious place.”

At first everyone was kind of into it, asking questions here and there, wondering what he did all day, how he went to the bathroom. “Did you see that flag?” someone asked, but Ben just laughed.