Day 105 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Let Spacemen by The Killers inspire you.
Erin: In the morning, my husband was always a different man. He questioned everything. How some people are groggy and slightly crazy at night he would be in the morning. I got this impression that his dreams were on a different level than my own. In a different universe than my own. I used to think he was crazy, but then I got to know him and I started to listen and I realized in his crazy there were answers to questions I was finally starting to ask.
Shannon: I breathed in and opened my eyes. I was back on Earth and lying in a hospital bed. “We’ve got a pulse,” one of the doctors standing over me spoke out loud in a relieved tone. My vision was a little foggy, and my body was going though a weird tingling sensation as life poured back into my veins. I was alive. Thank God I was still alive.
The doctors and nurses were working on examining me, and patching up my broken pieces. Well, the physical ones. It was weird seeing them work on injuries I’d inflicted on myself. I wondered what they thought of me, and the other people like me. I winced at the pain of one of them sticking an IV into my arm.
After they finished and they gave the all-clear for visitors, my mom burst through the doors more emotionally destroyed than I’d ever seen her and immediately held me in what felt like the making of the world’s first never-ending hug. My eyes flooded with tears and I couldn’t control my heaving. It was one of those bittersweet hugs, the kind that burn, but in the moment you need them more than you need air to survive. “Why would you ever try to leave me like that,” she questioned, hardly able to get the words out coherently.
“I don’t know,” I coughed out.
“You don’t get do something like this and say that. I’m not going to accept that. You tell me what’s wrong,” she demanded, finally backing away but she didn’t loose contact as she took ahold of my hands in hers.
“I just thought I wanted to be free, because I’m not free in this world. It’s doesn’t really like me,” my voice faded out as I tried to control myself.
She shook her head. “I promise the world doesn’t hate you. I would hate a world that didn’t have you in it, so whatever made you feel that way is wrong. They don’t know how important you are.” She put her hand under my chin, “You don’t know how important you are.”
Listen, interpret, and create?
Taking in a deep breath, I held my eyes shut for a few precious moments, knowing as soon as I blinked they’d notice me again. Every morning was the same deal; lie away in the fortress of down for as long as I couple possibly stand to breath the shallow sighs of sleep and stare into the warped abyss of my eyelids. When I inevitably slipped up and shifted a millimeter too much or took a breath that was slightly too deep, I could hear someone tapping their clunky boot on the wood floor or drumming their bony finger on the dresser. They were always there, always waiting for me to wake up to play.
This morning was no different; as soon as the air caught in my dry throat for a moment, creating a too-obvious snore, I could practically feel the vibrations as he beat his emaciated finger along the sturdy wood. Sighing as loudly as I could muster without bringing on a coughing fit, I blinked in the brilliant morning sunlight that streamed through the open window. Before me stood a strange gathering of horror characters who belonged somewhere other than the space-themed room in which they currently resided. The man who’d noticed my conscious presence glared through his hollow eye sockets and rested his thin hand on the rocking chair in the corner and rocked it gently in unison with my heartbeat.
Turning my legs under the covers, I moved to slip my feet into the heavy slippers that helped keep me grounded. But, appearing suddenly to block my passage was the second figure. He wore a long shimmering cloak that barely brushed the floor when he moved, hovering a few inches from the ground as though gravity decided to give him a pass. There was an odd glow to the fabric he wore that made it difficult to place the colour on a wheel; sometimes it appeared sharp fire-red while other times it was a deep ocean blue. Under the indescribable robe was a face that was perpetually cast in the shadows of my mind.
As he drifted back a few steps, I stretched my shoulders and finally hit the floor in my slippers. When I looked up, scanning the room for the third man, I wasn’t disappointed with the appearance of the spaceman. He was always somewhere off to the side, hiding behind an invisible wall he wanted between us; truly, he was the only one I ever wanted to talk to. The others were here to remind me of horrible things that had happened, but the spaceman remembered going through them with me. Beneath the tattered reflective suit he wore, were the marks of a broken heart. Behind the helmet’s visor, though I’d only peeked once, was the dead-eyed stare of a dead man trapped forever in the body of a child. Horns sprouted from his forehead, in what I assumed was some horrible cosmic joke.
His ragged breathing echoed through the respirator as he stood quietly, remotely apart from the others as though they could only see him when he was nearby. When I managed to reach the door, the three melted through the wall and greeted me in the living room as the television screamed at my sleeping father about aliens.
Created to Write:
Heather came back to the science laboratory for a final check up and test. Shuri was busy, so Heather sat and waited. Another scientist was working on something across the room. And as curious as Heather is, she goes over to investigate.
“What’s this?” She asks.
The scientist looks at her. Heather has her ‘curious little kid-adult’ look on her face. The man smiles, “It’s a portal. I was about to test it.“
“Cool. Where does it go to?” Heather asks.
“There is another portal a few floors up. If it works, this,” the scientist shows her a disc, “will appear up there.” He turns on the portal and tosses the disc through. “Confirm retrieval,” he says into his bracelet.
“Negative,” is the response. The scientist frowns. He checks over everything, and when both sides are ready, he tosses another disc.
“…I don’t know what’s wrong,” the scientist says.
“Shut it off, and I’ll be right over,” Shuri says. The man moves to do so, but the portal doesn’t turn off.
Heather feels the portal heat up, and she tries to back up. The scientist starts to be pulled toward the portal. Heather then pushes him out of the way, only to get sucked through herself.
Heather slowly comes to her senses. She sits up, holding her head. She looks around. There are piles of garbage everywhere, and giant portals drop more garbage every so often. She adjusts how she’s sitting, then feels a sharp edge. Underneath her are the two discs the scientist tossed.
‘Great. Where am I?’ She stands up. A ship, looking like it’s made of garbage like the kind surrounding her, comes into view. The hatch opens and a cluster of strangely dressed people come out.
“Are you a fighter, or food?” One asks.