Miranda Kate’s Mid-Week Challenge : 2018/10/14

“Gravity. That’s always been a good thing,” I decided, as I floated around my living room. “Military technology. That’s always been a bad thing.” Which seemed to sum it up nicely.

I was in my encounter suit. Like the ones NASA used to use on the old Space Station, way back in the early 2000s. Turned out I was one of the lucky ones, I had a suit. They’d only sold 100,000 or so, trying to recover some of the money NASA lost the Federal Government.

I’d decided to water the plants. The ones on my patio, that I’d been smart enough to catch, and pull inside before they floated off. Something about physics being physics, and gravity no longer working, and things floating off, and becoming detached from the planet.

“Damn ray gun loving, warmongers!” Yeah. That summed it up. It was 2106 when the remains of what had once been the United States went financially insolvent. Which wasn’t a surprise, given it was $378,296,185,243,156.43 in debt when the bankruptcy was declared.

I still blame the Republicans. Spending money hand over fist for military programs, and cutting taxes until no one had to pay any taxes. They made money out of thin air. And it caught up to them. But. that’s another story.

Right then, I had my hands full, trying to put the plants back into their pots, and trying to suck up all the water floating around my Dining Room. Oh, I knew all about physics. I knew how water behaved in zero gravity. Knew it was not a good idea to water the plants. The water would end up everywhere. But. Well. The plants were looking kind of bad. And I knew they needed water. And I couldn’t figure out how to get water to them. So, I’d managed to trap some water from the faucet in a sprinkling can. And the rest was history.

I’m sure any aliens watching us stupid humans were dying of laughter, as I demonstrated how water goes wherever it fucking wants to in zero gravity. And how plants can float out of their pots, dirt and all.

It was frustrating, I’ll admit that.

But it was better than thinking about what was going to happen in the coming days and weeks, as the atmosphere floated off, and left the planet a barren rock, floating through space. “Damn ;ray gun loving, warmongers!” Yeah! I’d tell them!

I’d been climbing the stairs of the building to my apartment when it happened. I pushed down, against a step, like one does. And instead of my foot staying put on the step, and my body raising high enough for me to put the other foot on the next step, my whole body shot up into the air, and my head collided with the bottom of the next flight of stairs. Painfully collided, I might add. “What the fuck just happened?”

Poor Jenny, my neighbor. She’d been in the bathtub. With one of those bath bomb things. Imagine. Gravity stopped, and all that water started floating around the room, and leaving a trail of soapy, glittery shit everywhere.

The news that night was entertaining, to say the least. The Department Of Defense chairman, tied to a big ass podium, standing in front of a bunch of cameras that were floating in all kinds of directions, explaining, “We had an experiment go wrong. It was a local anti-gravity weapon, designed to make enemies have to deal with no gravity in their environment on a battlefield. The test started out well. But something went wrong, and the test equipment ran wild, and, well.” He’d paused at that point, and looked at 43 different cameras, so everyone could see him. “It took out the gravity field planet wide.”

It got more entertaining quickly, like when the Atlantic Ocean decided to swallow a large chunk of Africa, and all of Europe. I heard the defense jockeys in my head every time I thought about it, “Oops. Sorry about that…”

Now, it was our last days, as the atmosphere had started acting like a comet’s tail, and was trailing out millions of miles behind the planet. “Funny how it’s easier to breathe in high spaces than on the ground anymore.”

I stared at the water, and the plants, floating in my Dining Room. “Fuck it. We’ll call it Art Deco, and see what happens next.”

I sighed. At least Jenny was happy. She floated over naked each night for endless sex. She called it one last big bang before the apocalypse. Who was I to argue with her? “If I gotta die, I may as well make the best of what time’s left.”

I don’t think I’d ever heard more appropriate words, or more truthful.

791 words

Saw the picture for week 76 of Miranda Kate‘s Mid-Week Challenge, and this little bit of fiction popped into my head. You can read about Miranda’s small fiction challenge here. Please, go read Miranda’s short tale this week, and any others that showed up. The tales are always little works of art, crafted with words, meant to be shared, and enjoyed. And many of them are amazing.


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