Alright so I made things make sense again. Focus is weird because you should always be doing something. I spend a lot of time thinking about doing things. All of that time could be spent doing something. Although, of course, that's exhausting. Anything you can do is work. I don't care about that, though, let's do it.
I understand I'm supposed to move out with someone and talk about how they're "Off that day", or "What we're eating for dinner", and mostly be boring. Alright, I admit it, real life is boring. The world moves slowly and it's depressingly unlike what you hope it'd be. In that way this fiction is an outlet, even though my fiction is also admittedly boring.
All the advice I've gotten from reading books is to consistently "go out of your comfort zone." Does going out of your comfort zone on facebook count on going out of your comfort zone? I've had some pretty offensive posts recently!
“Space King sent one of his edicts again.” The Space Cowboy said, his stallion's space helmet bobbing as it walked down the trail. His spurs beat into its side painfully, but it squinted its watering eyes and continued with no way to alert him. Space Cowboy pulled a round wrapped piece of paper from his bag and pressed a button on it, and it unwrapped in front of them in a flat rectangle. The squiggly written lines rearranged themselves into a video screen.
I understand I'm supposed to move out with someone and talk about how they're "Off that day", or "What we're eating for dinner", and mostly be boring. Alright, I admit it, real life is boring. The world moves slowly and it's depressingly unlike what you hope it'd be. In that way this fiction is an outlet, even though my fiction is also admittedly boring.
All the advice I've gotten from reading books is to consistently "go out of your comfort zone." Does going out of your comfort zone on facebook count on going out of your comfort zone? I've had some pretty offensive posts recently!
“Space King sent one of his edicts again.” The Space Cowboy said, his stallion's space helmet bobbing as it walked down the trail. His spurs beat into its side painfully, but it squinted its watering eyes and continued with no way to alert him. Space Cowboy pulled a round wrapped piece of paper from his bag and pressed a button on it, and it unwrapped in front of them in a flat rectangle. The squiggly written lines rearranged themselves into a video screen.
“Hello Space Cowboy, or should I say Darryl.” The king sad adroitly out of his tiny Spagghetio circle of a mouth. He had a giant bumpy white whig on and his skin looked naturally pale. “First of all, Space Cowboy… ahem… the gun you’re carrying. Who are you planning on shooting with that thing? Me? One of my boys? Our humble planet of Probippity has no use for the things.”
“I’m not registering my gun, it’s just not happening,” Space Cowboy said. “I’ve been living outdoors for years and I’ve never had to register my gun before. What happens if that space bandit jumps onto my Space Stagecoach and I didn’t have that thing? I’d have had to kill that sucker with my bare hands.”
Space King waited for Space Cowboy to stop talking to resume. Space Cowboy kept going, starting a long diatribe about space politics and how his father never had to deal with regulations. He refused to look down at Space King, and stared instead across at Kenny. Space King looked up at them both like giants.
“How does he expect me to hunt without it? The man’s gotta get his hand out of my back pocket.” Kenny wrestled with his horse, it tramped in place. “If I see him up there, flaunting his fancy space umbrella and shoving those space hams into his gullet, I’m going to…”
“I will not have you scare the Space Royalty!” Space King said. “We have asked you to do a simple job, activate the space shield and kindly get out!.” Space Cowboy might have heard him but he didn’t let on. He quickly rerolled the ledger and put it back in his bag, whistling a 1930s era cattle poking tune.
Space Cowboy looked up at the space manor on the only hill in the vicinity. Made entirely out of glass, it looked like the lowest ball of a snowman with a three sectioned disgusting hornet perched on it. Space Cowboy squinted angrily up at the tower, he knew the King was probably staring down at him through a telescope. He couldn’t see that far.
“Officious meddling bastard,” Space Cowboy said. “Sure I’m going to get a ticket again on my wagon. That’s half of my fee for the job.”
“Those traffic court fucks don’t even have an active line to complain to. Either they get their money or that’s your car. I’ve been stranded up here for years.” Kenny lamented.
The road was flanked on both sides by a residential colony. A house maiden decked out from head to toe in what looked to be an intergalactic snowsuit closed the pneumatic tube of a front door, the kids behind her shouting protests. The awestruck children watched from the one small window, the biggest one in front and the other two trying to peer around him. The Space Cowboy saluted them by removing his oversized space hat and setting it back on top of his big black head. They cheered and hollered like they had seen a real life Buzz Lightyear.
“Let’s get this over with so we can go to Lefty’s.” Kenny said, remounting the goat. “Ain’t nothing like my actual horse, either.” He kicked at the space goats side, it moaned lugubriously.
“The moon is getting more purple every day.” Kenny wore the sunglasses that they insisted would help his space driving, and wondered if they’d have any effect on his vision. “I swear to God that thing is getting more purple.”
There had been pancakes at the public house that morning, and everyone else had stayed in. The Captain insisted Kenny escort the Space Cowboy, a man no one knew a lot about except for the Space King.
Kenny was through with smalltalk. “Where do you live, Space Cowboy? Wonder why everyone calls you Space Cowboy.” Space Cowboy didn’t respond. He looked up at the space ranch hanging up there in the sky, the circular bisons grazing by the lucite barn.
“If you don’t shut your mouth this is going to be a much longer walk for both of us.”
They passed a sign that said they shouldn’t be going up into the mountains.
“Captain said it’s right up here, just turn the generator on with the key and get out.”
For the lack of vegetation on the trail, here were suddenly old dead trees with roots that looked petrified guiding the path. The goat refused to go any futher when they crossed a trench where a stream used to be, Space Cowboy hopping off and guiding the goat off the trail where he itched it to a tree. He wound the rope around the branch three times and tied it in a bowline knot.
“I’ve been down here a hundred times, Space Cowboy.” Kenny said. He rubbed his arms. “You could have just given me the key and I would have done it for you.”
“I got strict orders, Kenny. This key doesn’t leave my possession.”
Kenny shook his head and they continued down a flanking dry earth. Space Cowboy followed cautiously behind and kept his hand close to the holster.
“Welp, here we are.” Kenny’s voice garbled through the staticy voice modulator. His face was hidden behind a cloud of gas inside the space helmet.
The meter on Space Cowboy’s normality radar started to blink repeatedly. He sensed something wasn’t right before he looked down at it.
They stood together infront of the outpost station, which appeared to be completely built into the ground underneath it.
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