The stars twinkle. I remember when you pointed at the one you wanted to go.
My tablet beeps. A message from “somewhere in Virgo,” you say. Sent fifteen years ago.
I wonder if I should I bother replying. It’ll take longer than fifteen years to…
Clutching the tablet, I type.
Joey doesn’t even have a tablet but he can be messaged at joeytoey.com.
We would be the first family to fly to the moon. I don’t know why they chose us. Dad hates flying, mom fears open spaces, my sister needs too much space, and I get severe motion sickness.
At least I’ll find out if the moon really is made of cheese.
Stephanie Amargi lives in Oregon with her husband and some house spiders. Her poetry is forthcoming in Foundling Review. She writes about her love for food, words, and being human on her blog.
From here it is just another speck of light in the sky, barely discernible from the rest, but as I look upon it I weep.
I tell myself that one day I will make it home, but I know it’s not true.
The Earth winks at me from the heavens.
Chris Griglack was born and raised in Massachusetts where he has lived for 23 years. He graduated from the University of Massachusetts Dartmouth in 2012 with a degree in Writing, Rhetoric, and Communications.
“We’re at apogee in five, four, three, two, one.”
The booster fired, then the engines; a sustained burn using half the remaining fuel.
“Systems are one niner zero and holding.”
Ahead, the gas giant started to swallow its moon, soon to be left behind again.
“Roger, and… Wait! What is…”
Stuart Turnbull is a feckless no-gooder with a tendency to fantasize. He mainly cares for the house, and occasionally writes a story or two.