Man from the moon (UNDER EDITING)

Journal001/Liftoff

My body sunk into the plush couch—the loose strings rubbing against my arm in the wrong way; my eyes were focused on the wide screen before me.

There was a plump man, wearing a blue suit—with flush red meaty cheeks that sagged a bit at the edges—and a patchy beard missing more than a few strands. Above that, his mouth was creased into a wide smile.

Rivulets of sweat leaked through his dark auburn eyebrows, dripping into the sunken crevices that held his eyes-eyes full of prudence and tact.

He took a deep breath:

"Today, on June 27, 1984, we have, just as we did before, set sail to a new sea—a new ocean. One higher than any before, one deeper than any trench, one vaster than everything we may have trodden.

We, together, choose to go to the stars. To seek out something beyond us, to be explorers. To find crevices hiding more than any cave here.

On this blue marble, every man and woman, every saint and sinner, ever-present and king, every leader and tyrant, every lover and lovee; On this pale blue dot, this is us. This is Home.

Everyone to ever be born has died here, lived here, breathed here; and today, we lived to change that.

You, us, together, we will watch, as we defy the odds that have weighed us down to this lonely planet.

To find others like us.

Others, unlike us.

To find life."

The speech ended. The plump man whose head looked like a thick grape walked off stage, men and women following him like a swarm of flies over a horse.

The crowd cheered, and I could see the floor rattle, the screech grew as the camera swiveled around to catch the smiles and cries of men, women, and children.

I placed my fingernail between my lips. I gnawed on it as I waited for my father to step onto the stage. If You ever did.

You did; You looked silly in Your suit, formal 'n stuff, didn't suit You, I liked You better here.

I turned my head, staring at the plush of you that you had made for me before you went to leave. It was nice, I guess.

My head felt heavier, I rested my eyes on my thighs; I could not see, but I could hear.

"I am honored to explore. To hope, to bring back what has been the dreams of many, to discover and record what has been pondered about longer than my last name has been around.

As a child, I wondered whether life beyond our big blue bubble existed. Whether, between those bright stars, or in those cold nooks and crannies, things as resilient as we grew to live.

On our voyage, however long or short, will unravel the truth to the question that has been in a billion thoughts, in a million books, in a thousand mouths, in a hundred telescopes, and one sky.

This is Superbia crew-001, to the people of Earth, we are signing off, for the stars are singing a tune."

The clapping was slow—then it snowballed faster—then it roared louder than any fictive beast could conjure. From the bottom of their gut, through their hearts, and then their throats. Human spirit soared with fireworks, touching the sky.

I looked up, towards the kitchen standing empty and dim—A drawing—a bad drawing, of me and you sitting on the fringe of the sleek steel machine.

My nose still remembered the last thing you cooked here—Burgers and fries—A classic Dad food. No, a classic You food.