Tranquility Base

on tranquility base
sans oxygen
makes sense?

It’s week two up here on the moon. Just jotting down poems that come into my head, to pass the time. Crew’s dead. I’m the only one left. I like to think there are a few people left down on Earth, too, fighting zombies in some crazy zombie apocalypse people saw coming. But that’s likely not the case. They’re all dead as well. Silly bastards we humans are, we blew everything up.

I may be the only human left in existence. An extremely endangered species. Time for the next generation of aliens to take over. Dig up our artifacts and wonder what the hell happened to us.

sense makes
sans taking breath
base tranquility
on rise

Radical Thinking

What if gravity pulled us to the poles and the equator. The cold people and the hot people, throwing harpoons to pull ourselves to warmer climates, building ladders to hoist ourselves over the planet, where we could meet others unlike us. The tanned and the pale. Would we exchange harpoon designs and ladder architecture, or hold our secrets close to our hearts.

There where the weather is temperate, maybe we could be too.

Radical is the word of the day on The Daily Post.

Autonomy – The Daily Post – 100 word fiction

Bright colours, morning to night. The lights are always on.

I’m alone here: I’ve been alone for as long as I can remember. I walk around freely but, with nothing new to see, I feel like I’m living in a fish bowl. But I’m not a fish. I look down at my red plaid pants, my shiny red shoes sticking out, and my neon pink shirt and I wonder, who the hell dressed me in this? Being alone, I am, by definition, autonomous in this land. Yet I have no control! I must inquire with the hand that draws me.


The Daily Post prompt word of the day is Autonomy.

#SoCS – Vacuum

Technology is such that I have become lost in it, it seems. At times I see myself as a brain, floating above a chair, bodiless fingers upon a keyboard, in the vacuum of the Internet. My friends are other, bodiless brains and fingers and sometimes hands grasping appendages as they watch whatever excites them.

Do we become solid only when we get up out of our chairs? Away from our screens with images and words reduced to pixels and ones and zeros the moment they leave our floating minds? Do we ever long for smells, taste and the feel of anything but the nubs on the ‘f’ and the ‘j’?


Find Stream of Consciousness Saturday here and join in today!

Suspicious Coffee – an 100-word story

“What if,” I asked my husband as we sipped coffee from our china cups, “coffee contains some sort of secret ingredient that allows the government to read our thoughts.”

“What are you saying, Darling? That now coffee is part of your conspiracy theory? I honestly don’t know why I married you.”

“Now that you mention it, I was thinking the same thing. How could I have married someone who is so… insensitive to the possibility that everything is spying on us?”

“Everything is not… wait. Did you say you were thinking the same thing as I? Put down the cup.”