This story was written for the shelved APOGEE event - the Sci-Fi chronicles. The level of inanity is directly proportional to the time spent on the story of course, and this one got a measly two hours.
I woke up one Sunday morning and left the room very early. And I was in for a shock. Out in the gathering mist I could see a spacecraft. A large, green thing, it was bobbing gently, about forty feet above the lawns before me. Outwardly cautious, but inwardly bursting with excitement, I made my way through the dew-slick grass. Meanwhile, my brain feverishly worked out theories: somehow all of them ended with a recently awoken, sweaty me. Pessimism will be the bane of humankind! I could see it more clearly now. It was a featureless sphere, vaguely silvery actually, only giving the illusion of a greenish glow. It really looked like a spaceship, but then, as that nosy voice in my head pointed out kindly, it could have been a real spaceship in a real dream. (I have fought pesky forty-foot tall dragons, rescued beautiful damsels from one eyed ogres, transmuted into a bullfrog and even twirled the Sears Towers on my little finger; all in my sleep, and all accompanied by the most realistic of corporeal experiences.)Presently, I found myself directly underneath the ship. There was a doorway, only it was forty feet up. True to the surreal nature of the whole experience, I suddenly felt a surge of raw power burn through my muscles. I picked up a stone and threw it straight up. I waited for what seemed like a whole minute,but it did not return. I leapt towards the entrance.
The inside of the ship was as featureless as the outside. I had been in the ship for what seemed like days, and the only interesting thing that had happened in the whole period (besides the door shutting on me as soon as I flew in) was that I observed the scent of my mother’s deodorant coming from the walls. That too passed. The Voice informed me, rather superciliously, that my dreams aren’t usually this boring. Just then, without any warning, an entrance opened in the roof (Voice: “Has the ship been rotating?”). Sighing, I leapt again. After a moment of heart-stopping disorientation, I noticed that I was on another planet. I looked back towards the spaceship (it was a bright pink now. Voice: ”!!”) and surprise, surprise, the entrance wasn’t there anymore. Still convinced that I was in a dream, I shelved that worry and decided to explore the planet. The first thing I noticed was that it rather looked like a Viking picture of Mars. Everything was red. The pebbles (they covered a very pebbly plain that stretched as far as I could see) were red, the sky had a reddish tinge and even the distant mountains seemed to be topped with red snow. There was a bright star in the sky, halfway up what I presumed was the Eastern sky. The star looked about half as big as the Sun, and didn’t really seem to be doing any good; I caught myself shivering. The sky lightened perceptibly, and I felt a pleasant stinging heat on my back. I turned around, to be treated to one of the most delightful experiences any Earthling can dream of (Voice: “… or dream about”). A second sunrise. The second star seemed to be twice as big as its companion, and seemed faintly yellowish. A gleam in the distance caught my eye, and I walked towards it. Long before I reached it, I deduced that it was some kind of liquid source. The all-too-familiar sound of lapping waves filled my ears. The liquid looked jet black and opaque, but I fancied that I glimpsed movement beneath the all pervading blackness. (Voice: “What if it’s carnivorous?”) As much as I would like to believe that I am immune to the Voice, a vague sense of dread soon enveloped me, and I walked away hastily. Surprisingly, considering that I had felt neither hunger nor thirst, I soon began to feel drowsy. I lay down on the soft red mud, and fell asleep.
It was dark when I woke up. I groggily contemplated whether nights would be significantly shorter in binary star systems. There were many revolving lights in the sky. Pieces of rock in orbit, I told myself. (Voice: ”They are satellites and they are watching you!”) Presently, I noticed something which got me excited again. Despite the obviously alien nature of the planet, and the obviously undeniable fact that there were two parent stars, the night sky seemed mostly Earth-like. I picked out the three bright stars that made up the belt of Orion the hunter. The Big Dipper too was there; a frenzied couple of minutes later I established that most constellations were the same. All, that is, except for Cassiopeia. It seemed to have an extra star. As realization dawned, blood rushed painfully to my face and a dull, heavy weight seemed to have ensconced itself somewhere in my stomach. That was the Sun, and I was in the Alpha Centauri star system. Retrospective clairvoyance seemed to paint the star a very distinct sun-like yellow. For the first time in hours, I looked for the spaceship. It wasn’t anywhere in sight. (Voice: “This is no dream!”). I walked around aimlessly.
After another short, restless nap, I noticed that it was light again. I wasn’t despairing anymore, as I had once again talked myself into believing that it was only a dream. The spaceship stood some distance away, quietly glowing and bobbing in the dim light (it was a poisonous green now). And the entrance was open. I ran towards it, any lingering circumspection abandoned, and leapt towards the doorway.
I have been a space traveller for a couple of years now. I have seen many, many beautiful and spectacular things- the majestic cosmic dance of two colliding galaxies viewed from an ejected stellar system, a blue star that varied in brightness so quickly that each day had several nights, a red giant so big that it covered two-thirds of the sky and a planetary nebula that looked like a gibbon’s bottom. The lasting emotion, however, is that of boredom. I am convinced that the spaceship can somehow sense my mood; once, it changed itself to smell like unwashed underpants when I despaired of the scent of my mother’s deodorant (yes, that one seems to be a fixture), and another time, it covered itself with lifesize pictures of Elvis Presley (I still haven’t worked out an explanation for that one). I sleep a lot, sometimes involuntarily it seems. Perhaps the spaceship feeds me then, and quenches my thirst. Oh, by the way, I think I have cobbled together an adequate explanation for the spaceship’s existence. It is a sort of cosmic derelict, left to wander the universe of space-time. I also think it’s been built by humans, for, not once have I reached a world where I burst like a tomato on stepping out, or freeze to death instantaneously. Interestingly though, the spaceship hasn’t revisited any planet again. I still haven’t given up hope though.
There you go, the doorway’s open again. See you around, then.
I woke up one Sunday morning and left the room very early. And I was in for a shock. Out in the gathering mist I could see a spacecraft. A large, green thing, it was bobbing gently, about forty feet above the lawns before me. Outwardly cautious, but inwardly bursting with excitement, I made my way through the dew-slick grass. Meanwhile, my brain feverishly worked out theories: somehow all of them ended with a recently awoken, sweaty me. Pessimism will be the bane of humankind! I could see it more clearly now. It was a featureless sphere, vaguely silvery actually, only giving the illusion of a greenish glow. It really looked like a spaceship, but then, as that nosy voice in my head pointed out kindly, it could have been a real spaceship in a real dream. (I have fought pesky forty-foot tall dragons, rescued beautiful damsels from one eyed ogres, transmuted into a bullfrog and even twirled the Sears Towers on my little finger; all in my sleep, and all accompanied by the most realistic of corporeal experiences.)Presently, I found myself directly underneath the ship. There was a doorway, only it was forty feet up. True to the surreal nature of the whole experience, I suddenly felt a surge of raw power burn through my muscles. I picked up a stone and threw it straight up. I waited for what seemed like a whole minute,but it did not return. I leapt towards the entrance.
The inside of the ship was as featureless as the outside. I had been in the ship for what seemed like days, and the only interesting thing that had happened in the whole period (besides the door shutting on me as soon as I flew in) was that I observed the scent of my mother’s deodorant coming from the walls. That too passed. The Voice informed me, rather superciliously, that my dreams aren’t usually this boring. Just then, without any warning, an entrance opened in the roof (Voice: “Has the ship been rotating?”). Sighing, I leapt again. After a moment of heart-stopping disorientation, I noticed that I was on another planet. I looked back towards the spaceship (it was a bright pink now. Voice: ”!!”) and surprise, surprise, the entrance wasn’t there anymore. Still convinced that I was in a dream, I shelved that worry and decided to explore the planet. The first thing I noticed was that it rather looked like a Viking picture of Mars. Everything was red. The pebbles (they covered a very pebbly plain that stretched as far as I could see) were red, the sky had a reddish tinge and even the distant mountains seemed to be topped with red snow. There was a bright star in the sky, halfway up what I presumed was the Eastern sky. The star looked about half as big as the Sun, and didn’t really seem to be doing any good; I caught myself shivering. The sky lightened perceptibly, and I felt a pleasant stinging heat on my back. I turned around, to be treated to one of the most delightful experiences any Earthling can dream of (Voice: “… or dream about”). A second sunrise. The second star seemed to be twice as big as its companion, and seemed faintly yellowish. A gleam in the distance caught my eye, and I walked towards it. Long before I reached it, I deduced that it was some kind of liquid source. The all-too-familiar sound of lapping waves filled my ears. The liquid looked jet black and opaque, but I fancied that I glimpsed movement beneath the all pervading blackness. (Voice: “What if it’s carnivorous?”) As much as I would like to believe that I am immune to the Voice, a vague sense of dread soon enveloped me, and I walked away hastily. Surprisingly, considering that I had felt neither hunger nor thirst, I soon began to feel drowsy. I lay down on the soft red mud, and fell asleep.
It was dark when I woke up. I groggily contemplated whether nights would be significantly shorter in binary star systems. There were many revolving lights in the sky. Pieces of rock in orbit, I told myself. (Voice: ”They are satellites and they are watching you!”) Presently, I noticed something which got me excited again. Despite the obviously alien nature of the planet, and the obviously undeniable fact that there were two parent stars, the night sky seemed mostly Earth-like. I picked out the three bright stars that made up the belt of Orion the hunter. The Big Dipper too was there; a frenzied couple of minutes later I established that most constellations were the same. All, that is, except for Cassiopeia. It seemed to have an extra star. As realization dawned, blood rushed painfully to my face and a dull, heavy weight seemed to have ensconced itself somewhere in my stomach. That was the Sun, and I was in the Alpha Centauri star system. Retrospective clairvoyance seemed to paint the star a very distinct sun-like yellow. For the first time in hours, I looked for the spaceship. It wasn’t anywhere in sight. (Voice: “This is no dream!”). I walked around aimlessly.
After another short, restless nap, I noticed that it was light again. I wasn’t despairing anymore, as I had once again talked myself into believing that it was only a dream. The spaceship stood some distance away, quietly glowing and bobbing in the dim light (it was a poisonous green now). And the entrance was open. I ran towards it, any lingering circumspection abandoned, and leapt towards the doorway.
I have been a space traveller for a couple of years now. I have seen many, many beautiful and spectacular things- the majestic cosmic dance of two colliding galaxies viewed from an ejected stellar system, a blue star that varied in brightness so quickly that each day had several nights, a red giant so big that it covered two-thirds of the sky and a planetary nebula that looked like a gibbon’s bottom. The lasting emotion, however, is that of boredom. I am convinced that the spaceship can somehow sense my mood; once, it changed itself to smell like unwashed underpants when I despaired of the scent of my mother’s deodorant (yes, that one seems to be a fixture), and another time, it covered itself with lifesize pictures of Elvis Presley (I still haven’t worked out an explanation for that one). I sleep a lot, sometimes involuntarily it seems. Perhaps the spaceship feeds me then, and quenches my thirst. Oh, by the way, I think I have cobbled together an adequate explanation for the spaceship’s existence. It is a sort of cosmic derelict, left to wander the universe of space-time. I also think it’s been built by humans, for, not once have I reached a world where I burst like a tomato on stepping out, or freeze to death instantaneously. Interestingly though, the spaceship hasn’t revisited any planet again. I still haven’t given up hope though.
There you go, the doorway’s open again. See you around, then.
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