Space signifies emptiness. Emptiness makes one think of sad places, where
you were trapped as a child, and only your loving mother could coax you out
of. Emptiness means death to all, but space.. Space means dreams, means
discovery, means mystery for everyone.
Yet in the emptiness of space, there is something. Not in our time, perhaps. Far in the future, maybe. I see it. Beyond our concept of thought, beyond the end of George W. Bush, there is something in space. A giant can, capable of the holding of hundreds, floats idly in its dominance over the vacuum of the outer realm. And lo! There are creatures surviving in it. Let us proceed into the kingdom of man, far in the future, where the past can still breathe...
A large man, made from muscle and sinew, stubble over his chin and red goggles over his eyes, bound in a spandex-like suit, sat on a metallic bench, the bland silver of his surroundings melting away as he reminisced over times before his dreams and nightmares became reality, when grassy plains was his present, not the past. When he still looked at his Pa as the best shooter he had ever seen. Before love, before hate, before everything, he seemed to him now. He quietly chuckled as the happy days washed over him. "Yup, those were indeed the days."
As he lay far from reality, to a place where happiness could still exist, it seems one of his phantom childhood friends appeared. Its wispy and cloudy form couldn't hide the small shock of orange-brown hair peeking out from massive horn-rimmed glasses that dipped down into a freckled face, and a pushed-up nose that teetered above a broad smile, looming over a small red shirt and plain shorts. The small ghost seemed to be calling him, but his voice was far-off as was a thin wail, slowly piercing his fantasies, until reality jumped at him and said, 'Hiya, Tuddrussel!'
The older man grunted, then looked far below him to gaze upon an impish-looking boy, who was in turn looking up at him with admiration. A thin wailing from Tuddrussel's fantasies had not left his ears, as a boxed light was flashing with red and blue, groaning with its irritability. 'Oh, hey, Otto. Just dreamin' about the old West. Back in those days, y' know?'
Otto Osworth (as that was the boy's name) smiled a bit to feign interest, and nodded over to the light. 'We have an assignment here, Tuddrussel.'
He grunted again, rising slowly from the wall, and walking through the labyrinth of the tin flier. As the two were making their way to the control room, the cold scene faded away, and this was left in Otto's mind.
A field of soft, golden grass and merry sunlight, mingling with the saphhire crown of the trees, swings into view. A small family of three crowd around the area.
A child of one year and six months, with a mess of brushy orange hair, slowly crawled to his feet, and stumbled toward the two larger folk ahead of him, one female with strawberry-blonde hair and a gentle voice coaxing, 'Come on, Otto. You can do it!'
As he strode, with ever relutance, to their loving arms, the woman stared laughing and crying at the same time, and the boy's father scooped up the child in his long arms, to his tall lanky frame, for a hug. 'I knew you could do it! Aw, that's my boy!'
The scene slowly crawls away, with all the three hugging.
As they made their way to the control room, no one noticed that Otto was weeping.
Yet in the emptiness of space, there is something. Not in our time, perhaps. Far in the future, maybe. I see it. Beyond our concept of thought, beyond the end of George W. Bush, there is something in space. A giant can, capable of the holding of hundreds, floats idly in its dominance over the vacuum of the outer realm. And lo! There are creatures surviving in it. Let us proceed into the kingdom of man, far in the future, where the past can still breathe...
A large man, made from muscle and sinew, stubble over his chin and red goggles over his eyes, bound in a spandex-like suit, sat on a metallic bench, the bland silver of his surroundings melting away as he reminisced over times before his dreams and nightmares became reality, when grassy plains was his present, not the past. When he still looked at his Pa as the best shooter he had ever seen. Before love, before hate, before everything, he seemed to him now. He quietly chuckled as the happy days washed over him. "Yup, those were indeed the days."
As he lay far from reality, to a place where happiness could still exist, it seems one of his phantom childhood friends appeared. Its wispy and cloudy form couldn't hide the small shock of orange-brown hair peeking out from massive horn-rimmed glasses that dipped down into a freckled face, and a pushed-up nose that teetered above a broad smile, looming over a small red shirt and plain shorts. The small ghost seemed to be calling him, but his voice was far-off as was a thin wail, slowly piercing his fantasies, until reality jumped at him and said, 'Hiya, Tuddrussel!'
The older man grunted, then looked far below him to gaze upon an impish-looking boy, who was in turn looking up at him with admiration. A thin wailing from Tuddrussel's fantasies had not left his ears, as a boxed light was flashing with red and blue, groaning with its irritability. 'Oh, hey, Otto. Just dreamin' about the old West. Back in those days, y' know?'
Otto Osworth (as that was the boy's name) smiled a bit to feign interest, and nodded over to the light. 'We have an assignment here, Tuddrussel.'
He grunted again, rising slowly from the wall, and walking through the labyrinth of the tin flier. As the two were making their way to the control room, the cold scene faded away, and this was left in Otto's mind.
A field of soft, golden grass and merry sunlight, mingling with the saphhire crown of the trees, swings into view. A small family of three crowd around the area.
A child of one year and six months, with a mess of brushy orange hair, slowly crawled to his feet, and stumbled toward the two larger folk ahead of him, one female with strawberry-blonde hair and a gentle voice coaxing, 'Come on, Otto. You can do it!'
As he strode, with ever relutance, to their loving arms, the woman stared laughing and crying at the same time, and the boy's father scooped up the child in his long arms, to his tall lanky frame, for a hug. 'I knew you could do it! Aw, that's my boy!'
The scene slowly crawls away, with all the three hugging.
As they made their way to the control room, no one noticed that Otto was weeping.