The Dark Space-Dust Shipping Company #73

Based on a true story

The Dark Space-Dust Shipping Company #73

A Short Story

By Darren Welsh

Pistachio Jackson looked at the powerful remote control in his hands and felt uneasy. He walked over to the window and reflected on his unforgiving surroundings. He had always hated the dark Space-Dust Shipping Company with its dirty, disgusted deserted wasteland of physical features. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel lonely. Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Sea(n(6.02*10^23)) Scott. Sea(n(6.02*10^23)) was a fast coward with and ignorant mind and a greasy right fist. Pistachio gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a tall, strong, Kool-Aid drinker with many dreams and a quick wit. His friends saw him as a great, black, god. Once, he had even used a jet pack to fly from a broken down ship to his base. But not even a tough person who had once escaped death was prepared for what Sea(n(6.02*10^23)) had in store today. The electrical storm teased the rocky asteroid they were on like creaking badgers, making Pistachio nervous. As Pistachio stepped outside and Sea(n(6.02*10^23)) came closer, he could see the manic smile on his face. "I am here because I want control," Sea(n(6.02*10^23)) bellowed, in a low-pitched, beastly. He slammed his greasy fist against Pistachio's chest, with the force of a thousand potatoes. "I will kill you, Pistachio Jackson." Pistachio looked back, even more regretful and still fingering the powerful remote control. "Sea(n(6.02*10^23)), I own you," he replied. They looked at each other with enraged feelings, like two glamorous, grotesque glowing elements of nature shattering at an enlightening vessel collision, which had otherworldly music playing in the background and two sinister banshees screaming to the beat. Pistachio studied Sea(n(6.02*10^23))'s solid forehead and greasy right fist. Eventually, he took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, but I can't give you control," he explained, in pitying tones as he dropped the remote on the ground and smashed it to bits. Sea(n(6.02*10^23)) looked emotionless, like a broken man, his body raw like a rotten tomato. Pistachio could actually hear Sean's spirit shatter into 6.02 * 10^23 pieces. Then the slimy coward scurried away into the distance.

Not even a drink of Kool-Aid would calm Pistachio's nerves tonight.

 

THE END

Author's Note

Sean's name has a mole of n's. Like Seannnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn...etc. Also why would you read this bad trash. Go do something productive.