All Stories

I know that the time has come. I will be the first one to go. And my batchmates will follow soon, no doubt.

Surprisingly, the time is natural, despite all the dangers we faced early on. Drilling was never easy, and building underground was even tougher with the limited resources.

But of course you know all the history. Of the grit we early settlers had, and of the sheer willpower that saw us through.

Keep aside all the space hazards. What we really feared was death before completing the electric crematorium.

Because you cannot just bury a body on the moon.

Just like in high school, Max sits four tables away from Heidi. He never dared being closer, only enjoyed her long blonde hair and green eyes from that distance. Something’s changed today, he tells himself. Maybe it’s because of that raging boner he woke up with this morning.

Max stands up. With assertive steps, he walks. Heidi notices, turning with a curious smile. Max keeps a steady course all the way—past Heidi—past the staff nurses and back to his room. He drops his dentures in a glass of water, and in his lonesome, whispers “chicken shit” again and again.

Yesterday had been a glorious day for our family barbeque. Sizzled sausages, browned burgers, charcoaled chicken, and seared steak.

Today, I saw the first body where I had left it. The next one was near the window—also dead. In the kitchen were more corpses.

It was their fault. After the barbeque, they had followed me into the kitchen, trampling all over my food with their dirty feet.

So, before going to bed, I had reached into the cupboard for my weapon of mass destruction. Now the bodies were there for all to see.

Murdered with a quick squirt of fly-spray.

You told me you’d save me. I trusted you. You kept reminding me with pop-ups that if the time should ever come, you would save me. You promised me.

Well, the time has come. I can’t do anything. The crash came with no warning. It was total and complete. Now, here I sit and wait for you to fulfill your promise. Instead, all you do is demand “Enter your password to start the recovery of your disk.”

What password?? Why can’t things be simple, like they used to be? I never needed a password to recover a paper from my wastebasket.

“Why is this sharps box labelled ‘penis’?” The consultant didn’t look amused. He strode through the ward, ‘penis’ box in hand.
I hid my smile in a cough.

“It’s supposed to say ‘pens’,” the secretary said, sighing.

“You are professionals, adults. This is not acceptable.”

Label torn, the repurposed yellow box continued its duty as a makeshift pen holder until an anarchist stuck a large label on it proclaiming ‘pens’. An hour later the ‘penis’ returned.

Again the consultant strutted and tutted, but this time I laughed aloud; I’d seen him in his office, giggling as he inserted that little ‘i’.

She rowed steadily, watching her boys. They faced her, sharing the back seat of the wooden boat. The fat tube she had roped to the back of the boat as a pretend lifeboat bounced on the waves.

“In case of an iceberg.” She winked.

The young boys laughed. “Mooommm, there are no icebergs here.”

The Drummond family approached in their sky-blue speedboat. They towed their teenage daughter, who hooted as she jumped the wake on one ski. The driver, Mr. Drummond, smiled and looked back to see his daughter’s delight.

He would’ve hit the shore, if the rowboat hadn’t been there.