Most Likely to Make it to the Moon
Middle finger to the sky. She's over it, 2020. Ready to escape; she's out of here. Even the Canadian borders are far too close, but then again, so is Japan and she's always wanted to get lost in Tokyo. But she can't let that concern her now. She's off to a depth greater than heights. She's taking the last spaceship out to the end of the world. No president, no paramour could convince her to stay. She has pursued no other prospects; now she just needs to pack [For full instructions, refer to the forthcoming, What to Pack When You Want to Leave the Planet].
She hasn't been the same since she discovered her Uncle Austen's old radio in the sentimental (and almost Goodwill'ed) box forgotten about in the corner of the basement. The dials were torn off, just like he left them. People thought he only used them to manage the stock market because that's all anyone ever witnessed. But she proved that theory wrong when she plugged it in. When you operate on a different frequency, you hear things that others don’t. So high only the heavens can hear you. That day the static spoke to her, and she's been hearing it ever since. And it seems to hear her, too. So well after the rest of the world goes to bed, she goes beyond it and conducts a concert for aliens. It's her form of bribery, a punk rock gift to the gods of the new world order. Just in case. But now she's ready for them to take her, too.
"Good evening, otherworld. I beckon you. Do you read me?" she says, leaving it all in the airwaves. Then she waits to see what would happen next.
10/8/2020 06:52:35 pm
Love love love this!!!!
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One sketch + one story, all October.
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