Mission Control

[Brad Rose]

We were deserted planets.  The night’s red sky crawled toward us.  While I was listening to your ingenious kisses, you paused and said, “I know men want to explore me.” My hands didn’t begin trembling, exactly, but I can assure you I was in no condition to land the shuttle or to play the role of William Tell.  Then, you whispered, “I promise to spare the parts that God broke.”  

 

Mission control, bring me home. Alive.

[Kristine_ES]

thank you for writing this.  and especially "i promise to spare the parts that God broke."

[Brad Rose]

Thanks everyone for reading this mini scene.  @Angela, yes it has a sapcey feel for me too, a little bit wistful, as Judy points out, and little otherworldly, too.  When I write, I have a sense of what I want to portray, but it is always so abstract and atmospheric in my imagination, until I get a line or two and then the thing takes on a life of its own--which is always a little different than I originally imagined it.  I think I feel closer to  prose poetry than I've customarily thought.  Little hybrid things that are neither fish nor fowl, but somehow both--and brief.  I so wish I could be more elaborate in my descriptions--as many of the fine writer here seem to do so well--but these things have a life and a direction of their own--(a teleology?)--more succinct and stark, and ideally. crisp. (Well that's the ideal, anyway.  What I'd like to be able to produce, anyway.  All in good fun of course.  Serious fun.   Thanks again to all for reading and your comments.

[Judy Thompson]

this is lovely.  That's all I can say.  I read it three times and Im still smiling wistfully.

[Angela]

I got a sort of 2001 a Space Odyssey feel from this.  Only sexier, with tenderness.

[Jadie Jones]

this line made this six for me: “I promise to spare the parts that God broke.”  well done.