‘Black’ Alt Lit Sci Fi by Rob Geisen

Black

 

The Year: 2032

Space Station: Orbiting a Ventriloquist Shaped Moon

 

The sensitive Astronaut found himself

slipping upon the lottery-ticket-like landscape

as if his love had recently exploded

thus coating

the entire history of his current surroundings

in a slick, unsociable-like substance

resembling Old West Sound Effects records

or a galaxy sized encyclopedia encased in black ice

and miserable blood

 

“Space is dark,” he thought to himself

as he lay there on his back

as dark as the bruise

he was bound to find tomorrow

in the mirror

which was presently forming

like a gibberish Rorschach test blotched

upon the un-inhabitable surface area

of his sucks-at-math ass

 

“May I be of assistance?” the Station’s shiny Erotobot 4000 asked

as it hovered above him

having witnessed his fall

 

“No thanks.” The Astronaut said.

 

“Are you sure, sir?” the Erotobot 4000 responded

You look as if you’re in the midst of a pained state.

I could suck your dick…”

 

“What…the…no. Fuck off.”

 

The Astronaut did not want his dick sucked

What was wrong with these goddamned robots?!

That was their answer for everything these days

 

“Do you need any assistance standing up then?”

the Erotobot 4000 asked.

 

“No.”

The Erotobot 4000 stood there

looking like a confused toaster

with unusually large feet

 

“My systems report that you are not attempting to

get up using your own power.

Is it your intension to just lay there?”

 

“For the moment, go fuck yourself. I mean, yes.”

The Erotobot 4000 was quiet for a while

The Astronaut was quiet for a while longer than that

Then the Erotobot 4000 spoke again   “Are you sure

you don’t want your

dick sucked?”

 

“Go away.” The Astronaut screamed at the perverted machine

 

“I am unable to comply with that thing,

whatever it is you just told me to do.

It goes against my programming. I’m wired

to ensure that no harm comes to humans.

It’s what my entire existence is all about.

Presently you smell defenseless

and also, you look like shit.”.

 

“You’re goal in life is to make sure no harm comes to us humans?”

 

The Astronaut had been staring off

into the blackness of space for a while now

and was beginning to sweat

 

“Seriously? Then why don’t you waddle yourself

over to Engineering and tell that to Captain Gary.

Word is that last  week the poor bastard stubbed

his toe, you rolled over and offered to go down

on him, and ended up biting off his dick.”

 

beyond the stars…….crickets chirping

for a while there were no other sounds

just crickets chirping in space

 

“That was….an accident.” The Erotobot 4000 explained

its appliance shaped head tilted downward

momentarily, as if it were dislodging

burnt bread crumbs

or momentarily experiencing

shame

 

“Don’t you think it harmed Captain Gary,

to have his penis chomped off?”

The Astronaut asked

 

“That question is non-essential.” The Erotobot 4000 responded

his tone robotic and pissy

“You already know the answer to that. I’m equipped with

the latest psi reading equipment and I’ve just totally scanned you.

You don’t really care about the fate of Gary’s penis. I mean, you care

as in you feel bad for him

but that’s not what’s bothering you right now. You’re currently suffering

from some sort of emotional affliction.

You miss something,

and you’re using Gary’s penis

as a form of severed genitaliac deflection.”

 

damn right

the Astronaut

missed something

 

but instead of arguing

with a million bucks worth of spare parts

who’s Prime Directive was

to blow him

the Astronaut lay there wondering

if it’s true that nobody can hear you scream in space

then why could he hear crickets?

 

and then in an attempt to be the better man

about such things, he thought:

maybe it’s true

maybe she will be better off without him

and while thinking these thoughts

he felt an infinite interstellar ocean of dark matter

pressing against his space suit

carving first drafts into his

later-that-night nightmares

&

showing him once and for all

that there are far worse things

than irrational oblivion

 

while above him

he watched

star clusters colliding

like the dead light

of tightly lipped cauliflower

devoured

as they

drowned in a

Ranch Dressing

based dip

 

‘Lately I’ve been writing and publishing books for Monkey Puzzle Press under the name Get in the car, Helen. But my real name is Rob.’

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