Intercepted from Galaxy 5

Prompt: Write in a genre you're not used to writing in.
I've reverted back to the non-serious but in science fiction.

This is an excerpt from my novel. I'm not actually writing a novel but if I were, this would be an excerpt.

I wasn't sure from where the gust of wind came that blew shut the door to Galaxy 4359Z.  That door had been propped open since August 1974 giving me a view of just outside my porch where rectangles, boxes, mazes, brick walls stared back and a large angry boar ate dandelions. I assumed, as everyone did, that if the door closed I 'd be trapped inside. But strangely after it slammed the window opened... to Galaxy 5.

As long as I can remember, which sometimes is only 30 seconds, I've wanted to know how to get to Galaxy 5 from Galaxy 4359Z . It's a simpler, galaxy - quiet and blue with elongated planets that roll rather than spin. The planets are filled with dappled light, dusted dips and dimpled colonies on pleasant rolling hills each with a separate single-writer cottage on top where the inhabitants write novels all day and are delivered lunch and dinner in picnic baskets by large pelicans all named Max.  The Coquille St. Jacques served with lemon tea is everyone's favorite although the Ceviche with a light Chardonnay is a close second.

Galaxy 4359Z was hard to maneuver through but I had gotten used to it. Flurries of floating insurance forms, Penny Savers, bank receipts and lovely condolences routinely ganged up, floating in a circular motion around me creating a flimsy obstacular wall that made it difficult to walk undisturbed to my writing desk. There's no place that I could walk undisturbed…but then again, I'm fairly disturbed. Funnels of distracting energy forces insisted that I engage in centrifugal spins for hours, in googling, yahooing, tweeting, twitting, looking up useful facts like how tall Jon Stewart is and what happened to Claire Danes, and staring endlessly at social networks which rendered me mindless and hypnotized by dead-endeavors. I was harmless in the expression of any kind of independent, imaginative, or activistic thought.

I picked up my notebook, my pen and my model airplane tools and walked toward the newly opened window. I eagerly drank of the breeze that for once wasn't manmade and followed the impulse to step out of the window onto the treetop canopy ride that transported me to the colonies.

It was there that I was intercepted by a Hang Nail from a Planet 8 Medium. My consciousness immediately linked to Shopping.com and  I found myself ordering a pair of  Keen Saratoga  Casual Shoes with a Smooth nubuck upper in a backless slip-on casual style, with protective rubber toe cap front, subtle stitching accents, and a slip-on  elastic panel for $70, free shipping and $10 off my next order. My desire to write was discontinued, no longer available in my size, preferred color, or universe…

So I paid. I opened the door, threw the boar a rose, returned to Facebook and, without even reading them, clicked "Like" on seven of my friends' posted updates.

Comments

[janet whitehead]

please please keep writing this novel. damn, i love how your mind works.

[jbeansky]

Thanks Janet! I will as soon as I can escape from Galaxy 4359Z