Friday, February 14, 2014

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!

Image: vintagevalentinemuseum.com

Love is in the…cosmos?

Wherever it is, here's a romantic-ish, space-based short story to go with:



THE MAN FROM THE MICROWAVE
by Vela Damon



It’s weird finding a man in your microwave, but I’ve seen weirder since I’ve been stranded on this doomed rock. Space Now! did their big mass evacuation hoohah, but I missed all the boarding calls.

Too much last hurrah partying. Gran always said it would do me in. Bet she’s up there telling her bitter old biddy friends told you so! right about now.

Thanks, Gran. Really.

Guess sending a reminder holo to your only granddaughter! would’ve been too much hassle?

Judgmental old witch. Hope she falls off her jet-broomstick and breaks her neck-circuitry. 

Anyhoo, Microwave Man’s the size of a fairy sim, but he gets all up-in-tiny-arms about that. The correct term is Micro-Humanoid, thank you very much! He’s cute when he gets huffy and stamps his foot. I leave a patch of flour on the counter so he can make his little footprints and kick up his tiny clouds and feel like he’s accomplishing something.

Now he’s building one of his flour castles, using an antique root beer cap from Gran’s left-behind collection as a bucket. I used all the rest for plasma pistol practice, but M.M. asked to keep that one, said he liked the root beer’s little gnome guy mascot. I asked if those were his long-lost cousins—that turned into another foot-stamping, flour-kicking incident.

The thing with the castles, M.M. says they’ve got beaches with sand like that where he comes from. I asked if they could nuke it into bread. No huffy foot stuff then; he just rolled his eyes and said Did I say it was actual flour? No. I said it was like flour. Do you ever listen at all?

Remembering that makes me smile. Even if he is the only game in this doomed ghost of a town, M.M.’s still pretty good company. 

I patted his head with my not-much-smaller fingertip. “Somebody’s homesick.” Moved to tracing the stick-straight lines of the flour castle. “You always make these when you’re missing home.”

He nodded. “I wish you’d reconsider.”

“I missed my chance, M.M. Fairy tales won’t save me now.”

He frowned. “Must you use that term? And it’s not only you who’d be saved.”

Okay, so the doomsday thing’s made me a little self-centered. Being the sole regular-sized survivor can do that. But I know he’s right. Of course he’s right. Even if I think it’s total hooey, I could still try, for him. 

Besides, one little kiss…what could it hurt? Can’t really get any more doomed, right?

I leaned down to meet him three-quarters of the way. Okay, more than three-quarters of the way.

His fairy-sim-sized lips tickled like a bio-engineered goose feather.

M.M. frowned at my laughing. “It’s not as if I can kiss you normally, with the size discrepancy. You can’t make an accurate assessment under such—”

I shrieked, gripped the edge of the countertop as I shrank. Scary, but painless, just like he promised.

He pulled me up into his perfectly-sized arms, touched his perfectly-sized lips to mine.

Still tickled, but this time he smiled. “Don’t be afraid. You’ll be safe now.”

It feels safe, with him, but it’s still scary, being so small. Even the microwave seems miles above, but turns out M.M. had another trick up his...shirt.

He unhinged his rectenna-wings.

We flew.


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