A warm-up piece for the day…

Tell me more about the oranges, grandaddy, she said.

Welp, he said. The best part about the oranges was when youd peel em. The smell was just heavenly and drifted all around. Youd run your fingers all around and lift the peels and throw em all up into a pile.

That sounds wonderful, grandaddy.

It was, my dear. Now how bout you hop on up into grandaddy’s lap. Lets go for a tractor ride.

Oh yay! I love tractor rides.

The old man already sat on the tractor. The young woman climbed up and sat on his crotch. The sun was setting in the distance and cast an orange glow over the dry and dusty landscape.

Do you think it will ever grow back, she said.

All of it? he said.

Some of it. A little bit.

A little bit will. Some of it. Most of it, over thousands of years, it will come back.

Lets start the tractor, grandaddy.

Okay, my dear.

The old man started the tractor. The engine chugged and vibrated and shook the frame of the machine. The young woman smiled.

Random thoughts, or something

You know, the trippiest thing about building starships is going into the living quarters when you’re done. You see, people who think they may want to live on the starship will come and look at one or two of these apartments, and decide which model they want, get an idea of where in the ship they wanted it located, based on many factors like income, family life, married or single, whether you’re a loner or like to hang out in the town square, all the good stuff.

I see all these places when they are first built; when they are empty. I go through them room by room and look for things like if the curtains are cut too long, or if there are carpet fibers on the toilet seat. I go through them in extreme, exact detail, to ensure that they are all the same.

Here’s the trippy part, imagining all these hundreds of thousands boarding the ship, all of them going to the identical rooms, traveling to the same destination that not one of them will be alive to see. Their great-great-grandchildren will have forgotten the randomness of Earth, and will have been raised with that mindset, that everything is the same.

It makes me think, isn’t humanity just all of one person? Seeding itself throughout the universe? Aren’t we all the same?

So you know, I think I’m getting better as a writer

So maybe she’s talking to a bartender. “Hello there,” the bartender says, a woman about Mary’s age, but much thicker. “Drink?”

“Beer, please,” mary says. The bartender gets her a beer on tap. “Thank you, tell me, you have a lot of strangers here?”

“Oh no, why you’re the first person I’ve seen for the first time in a some time, a few days perhaps.”

“interesting,” mary sips at her beer and rolls her eyes, licks her lips. The ceiling is low here, perhaps ten feet, but the holograph is just fans spinning and spinning in the air. “that’s very interesting.”

“oh, how so, if you dont mind me asking?”

“I, uh,” Mary pauses to belch, spraying some wet beer drops from her throat, onto the bartender’s face. “I don’t mind at all. It’s interesting because there was something that happened, right here, not slo long ago. A few days, perhaps.”

“A few days, only, you say? Ah yes, I believe I know what you’re talking about.” The bartender leans forward, over the bar, and places her hand up to cup Mary’s ear. Into mary’s eardrum, she whispers, “There was murder here, moider, not so long ago.” Mary licks her lips and takes a deep breath.