by C.L. Bunnell
her mouth.
Why wouldn’t it stink? She thought. What would the temple of a man of men smell like? Noah’s Ark at the end of the voyage? Christopher Columbus’s ship upon arrival to the new world?
“It would smell like this,” she whispered, and the reality of this thought was powerful. Powerful enough, she stuck her head back inside the capsule. She breathed—forcing the foul air in and out of her lungs until the smell faded.
Using her handkerchief, she wiped the tears from her eyes and asked: “So what do you do during flight?”
“Well—I mark these gauges for one--” he held up a red crayon that was placed on the dash. “But most times, I look out the window, ask myself if I'm there yet …. The answers always the same—close—it’s always ‘close’.
“Then I finally land, and before I can blink an eye, I'm back in the rocket, heading home …. Sucks really …. Sometimes I’ll make stops along the way—ya know—stretch my legs—take a leak. Not often though.”
She took another breath, “I can tell,” she said.
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Things were moving fast now, and continuing to pick up speed. There was a press conference called. The planet of choice was confirmed, the gel was proven. The Max-G pad had finally made it to the “Daisy Doughnut,” which was the faded name still seen on side of Spaceman Dan’s ship …. The Doughnut was loaded and on this day, Max-G pad was on her way back to what would be the launch site.
As usual, she was in no hurry.
People were already setting up campers, and tents at the watch site. Nailing down a spot while some were available. That would change soon enough, and the area would look like a tent city within another day.
The streets were closed down to traffic. Vendors were setting up booth’s, selling everything from food, to T-shirts and there were two shirts available. The first said the phrase: “I saw Spaceman Dan take off for the new land!” Then the date of liftoff.
The second one said: “I watched from the park when Spaceman was fed to the sharks!” Then again there was the date …. This way they were covered no matter the outcome.
Rides were coming in, carnival rides, and the carnies were wandering around setting them up. Plugging in the lights, greasing the bearings and performing the safety checks. The midgets ran alongside the man-beast, who was looking for the bearded lady. They were dressed regular now, and the man-beast looked a little better. Not much, but a little. And they found the bearded lady and she looked like she had put on weight. But then she was always heavy.
She was found standing at the sausage and peppers booth, eating a sandwich.
There were games—shoot water into the clowns mouth, toss a dime on top a plate. Throw a baseball and drop the bottles which were stacked in a pyramid. Win your girl a stuffed bear! And there were boys already spending their cash trying to do just that. They looked clammy but determined while the carnie looked calm and confident. As for the girls, well—they didn’t look impressed.
There were camera’s everywhere and large trucks that had satellite dishes raised and pointed up to the sky. People were running around, tripping over cords. And there were lights, so many lights one wouldn’t think the sun was shining, but it was. And these cameras and the men holding them surrounded a small stage. And other men held microphones, and their arms were stretched out and strained, as they pushed forward against a large, hemp, rope that held them back.
It was a monumental moment, one of the few, special times when history is about to be made. And all those in attendance would witness this, and they will take pictures and videos of it. They will show them to their children and grandchildren. They will show their friends because proof will be required. Proof they had actually been there. They had been to what was destined to become known as WOODSTOCK 2020!
On this stage and off to the side, Gerald Stagman, the man who mixed the gel, could be seen. He stood straight with his hands joined in front of him. His fingers locked together, and he looked nervous. But there wasn’t a reason for this as it was obvious he was already doing all he would do. At best, his name would be mentioned, and people would clap a little.
In the center of the stage were three Asian women, each no doubt had on the gel—as their hair looked wet and solid. Pasted down to the top of their skulls. The back came together in a tail that had no rubber band. These woman looked strange, but they didn’t seem to mind. They smiled and turned from side to side so pictures could be taken. They wore one-piece bathing suits for reasons not known other than they had nice legs. And some flashes blinded Gerald Stagman, and he wanted to leave, but he remained where he was. He too was clammy because the Florida weather was hot and humid.
On the right of these Asian models, stood General William P. Colton, the man who was in charge, and this was his moment, and there were so few moments. At least there is when your job is war and killing. No one wants to see you come and everyone cheers when you leave. So he stood proudly and no doubt, he was soaking up every ounce of positive vibes he could.
Then … the crowd went silent as the moment arrived …. The President came into view, he walked as Presidents do. Confident and proper. His arms remained straight, and he swung them the perfect ratio. And this walk was no doubt choreographed the same as a dance. Perfected as that of a beauty contestants wave. And the President was a beauty so it was only fitting that he too would seek perfection.
Everyone saw this as he walked up and on the stage. He went to where a microphone stood, and there he stopped, and everyone could hear him breathing. The mic was picking it up. But that was all they heard because for a moment … he remained silent.
He looked out among the many who were allowed to attend. The lights were blinding, but he could see the tags that clipped to their shirts. The tags that stated who they were and why they should be allowed to stand so close. He smiled and showed his freshly cleaned teeth.
“I would like to take this time,” he said, and his voice was strong and deep, “to remind the American people how lucky you are to live in a country that’s blessed by God--”
He was cut off as there was screaming coming from the side of the stage. The President looked over to see Lenny, his aid running up the stairs then up to him where he stopped.
“Sir,” he said not realizing the mic. was picking up his voice. “You can’t admit there’s a God.”
“Why not?”
“Because … you just can’t.”
“But I'm pretty sure there is.”
“Don’t matter, you can’t say it out loud in public!”
“So there isn’t a God?”
“How the hell would I know? I only know what the people want to hear, and it’s not that!”
The President looked confused as Lenny walked off the stage, he turned back to the crowd who was silent and waiting. “Well then,” he said, “I would like our enemies to see that no matter what falls upon the American people, our flag will fly high!” Once again, there was screaming from the side, Lenny ran up, both hands in the air, waving them back and forth.
“Sir,” he said. “You have to say the ‘American flag,’ you can’t just say flag. That could be taken as any flag.”
“You mean even a terrorist flag?”
“Worse, it could be taken as the Confederate flag!”
“What the hell’s a Confederate flag?”
“It’s the flag of the South—sir!”
“The South--? Are they at it again? I was just down to Richmond and they surrendered. Surely they couldn’t have regrouped already!”
“I'm not sure what you’re talking about—sir. But the Confederate flag seems to be a sore subject.”
“Sorer than a terrorist flag?”
“Yeah—I think so.”
Baffled, the President once again watched as Lenny left the stage. He turned and with a face that was red as a beet, he went on:
“From the shores of Daytona Beach, Florida, to the clear waters of Great Bear Lake, Canada. Let this be a lesson to our enemies who think they can do whatever they want! That they can’t just throw words around. Words like ‘God!’ Or those who believe they can just fly whatever flag they want! Not here—mister! Not on our soil! Not in the land of the free—damn it…! God Bless you all!” He said and then started to correct himself, but shook his head and walked on. He could see Lenny standing with his mouth open. But it was too late. The words were out. The President had asked God to bless them all, and now they were all screwed.
The President walked off the stage, and there was no applause. Most in attendance were confused as hell.
He passed Spaceman Dan, shook his hand, some words were said, then he disappeared. Escorted to a limousine where he took his seat and a train of cars rolled away from the party. Cars that had tiny U.S. flags on the hood and they waved in the wind. The President watched them, he wondered if he should have them removed? He looked at Lenny who seemed to be reading his mind.
“There all right,” he said and smiled. “At least for now.”
Now, as Spaceman walked on the stage, there was an energy in the air. A surge of power as the people’s brains sent out neurons that were so strong, and active, they escaped their skulls and were now free to roam. And they did, and this made the air taste bitter, but it also made those in attendance edgier. Like strong coffee, this energy