Last week, whilst at work and trying to avoid, you know, work, I opened a fresh, white, unsullied Word doc and tip-tapped away for twenty minutes. I’ve not written prose in first person before, so thought I’d give it a go and see what came out.
Here’s what came out.
The start of a story? A quick exercise that I’ll leave unfinished? WHO KNOWS?!
(I haven’t polished this up. If the grammar is wonky, or it reads like crap, SO BE IT.)
(You look lovely today, by the way.)
The Last Woman
I may be the last woman alive, and I’m dancing around in just my undies singing the oldie classic ‘I Think We’re Alone Now’ at the top of my voice. Never took a single dance class. I guess I’ve either gone full fruit-loop (technical term) or I’m trying to distract myself from getting all the way over there. Either way, it’s a bad-ass tune and I do a killer version. TRUTH.
So let’s do a recap for all the listeners at home. It is now day forty-two of my stay here on the Moon. Full bed and board courtesy of NASA. The accommodation is adequate, hell of a view, but geez, the atmosphere here is seriously lacking. (har-dee-har, me so funny!)
Actually, maybe it’s day forty-three. Or fifty. It’s all a bit hazy. I seem to have a chunk of time missing (which yes, is SCARY AS A MOTHER FUCKER), and the computer won’t give me a straight answer. (SCARY AS A MOTHER FUCKER x 1000)
I came here with five other hardy souls. Now there’s just me and I have no idea why.
Kinda sucks. Yeah.
So why on God’s grey moon (ROFL, LOL, PMSL, ETC) am I carrying on filing these mission reports? Maybe they’re just bouncing around, going nowhere. No one to hear them. Just space, space and more fucking space.
I suppose I keep hitting ‘send’ on these things, hoping someone is still receiving them down there. Donne, or Simon, or whoever. Pete. It was usually you replying to these things before. So I’m gonna go ahead and pretend it’s still you I’m talking to. So how’s it going, Petey? What did you do last weekend? Get lucky? Yeah, I bet you did, you sly dog.
I hope you are getting these reports. And will excuse the bad language. But fuck it, I think the situation gives me a pass, yes NASA?
God I hope someone is hearing me.
But that’s not the whole reason. When I file these reports, for a moment or two, I don’t feel quite so alone. Quite so very obviously far away from anyone else. Quite so obviously fucked. Filing these reports is normal. It’s part of my daily routine. To just let that go… to accept that no one is getting these. No one is going to respond. No one is coming…
No, no, no.
At some point, I’m going to open the door again. I know that.
Okay. Wow. Sorry. Got a bit blue there. Bit down in the dumps. Hey! I am alone on the Moon in the middle of my own personal episode of The Twilight Zone, cut me a little slack, alright Petey? So what was this chicks name? The girl you hooked up with at the weekend? Was she hot? You deserve someone hot, Petey. Someone with a bit of junk in the trunk. Yeah, I know what you like, Petey boy.
Me? Oh, I guess I woke up pressed against the ceiling in an empty base with a killer headache wondering what the fuck was going on, where my crew were, and why no one on Earth wanted to talk to me anymore. So I guess you win that one Petey. I hope you treated her right.
Okay so I kinda have a lot of time alone with my thoughts these days, and I’ve come up with a few possibilities.
NUMBER ONE: I’m dead. Let’s start with the obvious. I’ve seen enough movie and TV shows with this hacky premise. Enough books, too. So I died doing… something. Don’t know what. Maybe the moon habitat was compromised and we all bit the big one. Frank cut his toenails and one of those hoof-chips whizzed right through the wall. Or I went outside and something nasty happened. I got run over by Killen or Talia joy riding in one of the buggy’s, or went out for a wicked hop around the Moon’s surface and didn’t spot a mile deep crevice. That would be typical of me, so lets say that. Death by my own stupidity.
So that’s where I am. Dead as a dead Dodo which is dead. And I guess this is purgatory, otherwise they really oversold this whole Heaven thing. Unless this is Hell, I guess. The knocks on the door. I… no, no, no: OKAY! Let’s get back on track, let’s not think about that right now.
So- Number One: I’m dead. If that’s it, then okay. It sucks, but at least I’m still me and aware. Things could be worse.
NUMBER TWO: ALIENS! Don’t laugh at me Petey.
I’m in some sort of Human Zoo being watched through a two-way mirror by bug-eyed monsters from the planet Zigilig 3. (Nice place to visit, wouldn’t wanna live there.)
NUMBER 3: I’m in the Matrix. Self explanatory.
NUMBER FOUR: Fuck knows. Something freaky and scary that ain’t gonna end well for your plucky heroine.
Sure be nice to hear your thoughts on my ideas, Petey. Maybe you’ve got some ideas of your own. I’ll be here waiting if you wanna run any past me.
And that’s the end of that. I wonder what’s going on? Will I carry this story on? Only future me, and possibly Space Jesus, know for sure.