A cowboy and his guitar, alone and uninspired. Strumming silently in the atmosphereless emptiness, soiling the farscape with nighbrations. Nothing ever passes by. He stares at the air lock, wanting. It would open any time now. Locking yourself outside on a timer is frightening, but it’s worked before. Inescapable Zen. Like solitary, but less cozy. Then, the twinkle of eight stars sparked an idea. A rhythm. A song. As if on cue, he was reeled back inside. He tore off his helmet, and for the first time in months he was able to make the music he found in space.
Comments from my old blog:
(Derek)[http://www.derekmartin.ca] said: Visit this link for 10% off at my mom’s store, in Petrolia: http://www.rebeccasplace.ca/coupon.php?source=derekad at 2009-11-27 23:28:22
(Derek)[http://www.derekmartin.ca] said: I didn’t win the contest. I’m not even in the Top 10. Of course, it was my first try at sci-fi since grade 7… and they DID receive 920 entries. Vote for the winner here: http://www.boingboing.net/2009/12/16/100-word-fiction-con.html#more at 2009-12-16 15:05:36
Breslin said: woah… that blew my mind a little. ;) at 2009-11-17 15:08:32
rebecca said: didn’t surprise me a bit, both my children are extremely creative and talented. very good ! at 2009-11-21 02:50:47
Buzz said: Petrolia, isn’t that place on fire or something?
Oh wait, that was that Centralia.
All the same, very suspicious. Petrol = Flammable. Centralia = On fire.
Coincidence? I think not. at 2009-12-04 17:10:10