I thought, when I was young, I was going to join the twenty-seven club. It was a dream.
Explode through the atmosphere, a fucking rocket on its way to etch its name across the sky only to explode spectacularly and leave its legacy falling from the sky.
Instead, I’m a half-broken sedan (well, more minivan based on weight), middle-aged and failing, and the only mark I’ve left on the world is some pets that loved me, and whom I love.
At least I know I made that difference.
(I miss you, little butts – Magnus, Loki, Nyka and Cassie Bear).
Still, is there a forty-seven club?
Could I start one?
How about ninety-seven?
Things never go how you will them to; it’s coincidence, circumstance and bio-mechanics that determine where we end up.
And for most of us, it’s the dirt, not the sky.
Target: 600 words
Written: 108 words, novella: The Mungk
Read: Yellow Birds, Karen Green
Comics: Aphrodite IX 4, Aphrodite IX v2 1-3
Music: Odds & Sods, The Who