Ringo makes their first friend.
Tag: fiction
aSoSS 34 | Absurdity
He didn’t go to jail, they put him in a cage. Solitary confinement, for two years!
Mujo Café Duderstadt, 10:00AM, 11/20/2024
you come out a shell, you understand that? i didn’t believe it, i grew up alone and confident, but it was a confidence bred to impress others. you spend your whole life stealing from the spotlight, taking attention by force, and it gets you in trouble, you know… you’re running from the law, from the past, and you’re running from yourself–that’s the worst part. they don’t care about your body, they care about your mind. the most important weapon. they take it, and they turn it on itself. a captain that sinks with the ship, a noble death at your hands. and you only have yourself to blame.
That’s one of my theories, that King Tut’s tomb was an elaborate theory. Cuz it makes perfect sense! It was discovered in the age of circuses and freak shows and fake artifacts—oh, this is the one perfectly preserved tomb?
Digger’s, 3:30PM, 11/29/2024
but curiosity got the better of you, didn’t it? you bring it up quickly, too casually, in a way that implies you’ve been thinking about it all day. it’s never left your mind, i know it and you know i know it. why dance around the campfire after it has burned to ash? a stutter-step, a dewdrop on a leaf, a bomb disguised as a blessing. my tongue hovers on the edge of detonation–so this is how rooftops become tombstones–as the granite slides open. the hieroglyphs twitch, awakened from slumber.
It’s my lucky Hot Wheels car, see… I can fidget, play with the wheels when I get stressed.
Angell Hall, 6:00PM, 12/3/2024
ready. where there are no riddles i am met with rhymes: a fifty-meter sprint, a poetic dash, an impossible distance to cross. set. the eye of the needle shimmers: a twinkle, a rumor, a tumor lying in wait. what’s the magic word? the engine squeals and the rubber drags its nails across the asphalt and the wall becomes ceiling. is it true that people don’t remember words, they remember feelings? a face, a mouth, a scream, the word go. a single moment crystallized, heat-shocked and left to rot. a neural pathway, brittle and dehydrated, ready to snap at the thought of you.
LOG_037_SEAGLIDERS_2
A flight of VD-10s in the cold morning skies of HKC 2901 c.
The VD-10 Skate is a medium-range escort fighter, reconnaissance craft, and, historically, as fighter-bombers. More maneuverable than Cormorant-class seagliders, they often accompany the lumbering freight aircraft of Kaua Merchant Navy (KMN) in groups of three to six as they cruise along in-atmo trade routes. Though agile, its small load capacity and low aspect ratio wings greatly limit their range; its detractors commonly criticize the comparatively high fuel demands, its middling performance across its variety of roles, and the reliability issues that arose early in its development. With changing interests and a declining need for aggressive escort fighters, the KMN eventually phased out the Skate in favor of newer, more economic designs.
Ringo From the Stars
Wishing you all a restful break! Next two weeks will feel like a whirlwind, I just know it. Ringo is gearing up for it, but right now we have to take care of Thanksgiving leftovers.
See you next Friday!
Georgie
aSoSS 33 | Handprint
We should just become English and get double-decker buses.
Pierpont Commons, 11:30AM, 11/8/2024
there is a screech of sweaty palm on stainless steel. the paint is stripped away in degrees, each sheet plastered to a different person. to think that we grabbed the same railing, turned the same key, held our own hands in the absence of the other’s. i was young and i did not realize you were young too. the paint, strong and dazzling, untouched. the pain, flaring, like a static discharge through the heart. the same hands, once cupped and overflowing, are now scrabbling at the coffin–but from which side? bury me alive, if it means you will never see me dead.
This is a really weird Sunday. I feel like everybody who was already gonna be somewhere has already left.
Trader Joe’s, 12:30PM, 11/24/2024
you are stuck somewhere in a space without dimension, a page without definition. your hair trembles. if i blink, you wave, your wrist flapping back and forth, your smile stretched between ears. an apparition, childish at heart, perhaps the worst way to suffer eternity. scream! please scream! the soul never matures; it knows the mortality of the body cannot compensate for the factors of luck, the four-sixteen-sixtyfour-leaf clover tattooed on your back. you are stuck somewhere, going but not gone, and i am stuck with you, suffering in silence, praising the deity that granted passage.
the devil’s dichotomy: an underworld, or a world without you.
Thanksgiving! It’s about the food and the family. I’ve told you, it’s like Christmas without the capitalism!
Glen/Catherine Inbound, 9:30PM, 10/8/2024
it is hard to write fiction and recognize the elements of truth that are sewn into the words, baked into the structure, digested in conscience and spit out as thought. of course i am thankful, but to speak it aloud would shatter the reality, a stake driven into the timeline. the only way to speak is to write, to draw parallels, to squint at the stars and see a bear. we are a kaleidoscope of butterflies, each of our successes driven by the updraft of our companion’s wings. i thank the earth for spinning so that i may see the sun split the horizon every day. i thank the moon for shining so that i may read and cry and dream without judgement.
i thank you, dear reader, for listening so that i may share a slice of this fruitful life with those who enjoy it.
LOG_036_CANYONS
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The canyons were remarkably similar to certain geological formations found in southwestern North America: great sentinels of stone and rock, worn down by wind and water over eons, amber and ruddy in the afternoon light. Alero felt almost–what was it? Nostalgia? Disappointment?–for something they’d only seen in pictures. This was the closest they would get to seeing the original, light-years from the cradle of human civilization. They tipped their face towards the star, feeling warmth seep in; then restarted the engine, trundling ever onward to the next waypoint.
