Guys! BlogBattle is back!
And, better yet, it’s back to the classic rules, all except for the fact that, instead of a weekly thing, it’s now monthly. Which should make it much easier to do it every time. 😀
The difference with how I’m participating in it this time, is that all the flash fictions I do are going to be separate—no more continuing stories. I feel like this’ll make it much easier to keep up, because if I want to switch up the genre or something, I can. Also, there won’t be any pressure to continue doing it when I burn out.
The randomly chosen word for August was moon. I started this story more than once, but finally settled on this version.
So. For now, here’s the first story!
Word Count: 561
I’ve always been a little insane. So if it weren’t for the fact that my other crewmate, Davids, is also gaping at the girl, I wouldn’t have believed my eyes.
Air. Air is important.
She’s just standing there. Without a helmet.
Well, to clarify, she has a helmet, it’s just shoved under her arm instead of on her head.
“Please tell me I’m hallucinating, Davids.” I mutter into my helmet comm.
He looks over at me, wide-eyed. “If y’are, I’m havin’ the same hallucination.”
She’s dressed in one of our suits. An older model, based on air pressure rather than compression suits, but definitely from Earth. Her helmet has a name on it, but I can’t make it out at the awkward angle.
She smiles. It’s not the creepy smile one would expect from a young lady strolling around on a moon without a helmet. It’s more… Awkward. And then she crouches down and starts drawing in the dust.
“Um. Are you getting this on video?” I ask Davids.
“Trying, but somethin’s wrong with it.” He mutters.
Ah, well. If I’m going to get violently murdered by a space banshee, at least it won’t be on video for every embarrassing detail to be analized later.
I give a little shove off the ground, drifting over to her. She flashes me a quick smile before returning to her drawing.
Or, as it turns out, writing.
“Sorry.” It reads, “Suit is dead. Can’t use comms.”
I blink. That’s her first thought? That we’re confused because she’s not talking?
She continues writing. “They left me behind. When I took my helmet off.”
At this angle, I can read the name printed on her helmet. JACKSON, MOON. It sounds familiar, but I can’t place it.
She’s focused on me now, so I slowly mouth my words, hoping she can understand. “How… are you… still… alive?”
Her gaze flicks downward. Her toes scuff the dusty words out. In a few seconds, she’s traced out, “My gift. Alive in void.”
It’s the most illogical thing I’ve ever heard. Even if she could somehow survive in space, there’s no moisture on this moon, much less plant or animal life. She’d have nothing to eat or drink.
“Food?” I mouth, raising my eyebrows at her.
“From… Friends.” She writes out. Was that a wince?
My comms system beeps out every last one of Davids’ words. I turn around, and I’m pretty sure my brain shorts out.
Because behind him, hovering a couple feet off the dusty surface of the moon, is an actual UFO. Round. Flat-ish. Silver. Is that a door opening?
I feel pressure on my arm and turn toward Moon Jackson.
And, yep, she’s got a knife. Very near to… Well, me.
I glance down at the new writing in the moon’s dust.
“Sorry. They want a human, and I’m apparently… not.”
Oh. Wait. Wait just one minute.
I remember where I’d heard the name Moon Jackson before.
It was the kid who’d gone to space back a few decades ago. The one who had a councilor come out later saying she was quite insane.
That she’d gone out there to find the aliens who spoke to her. In her mind.
Man, I always liked that story. Made me think insane people could really get somewhere in life.
Apparently she wasn’t insane.