The Picture On The Postcard
A sea of stars, and in the middle a tiny little spaceship all alone out there in the vast infinities of space
The Writing On The Postcard
Out here in space sleep forms 99% of your life.
The sleep of boredom and tiredness
of stasis
and time dilation
Endless sleep
without even the solace of dreams
The Reaction To The Postcard
“That postcard came from space!” said Daniel. “That is so cool.”
“I don’t think it actually came from space, Daniel,” Tina said.
“But imagine if it did!”
“I think it just came from wherever all these other postcards keep coming from,” Tina said, as she held up the other ones they’d received on and off for a few weeks now, about things like mysterious towers, abandoned shops, cats, castles, forests, days.
“Maybe they also came from space,” Daniel said hopefully.
“Nothing came from space, Daniel,” Ethel said. “Not unless Nanny sent us some liquorice from the moon again.”
“Well they must be coming from somewhere,” Daniel said, thinking as hard as he could. “And… from someone!”
“Very cleverly deduced, Daniel,” said Tina.
“But I wonder who they’re from…” Daniel pondered, ponderously.
(“They’re from Dad, aren’t they?” Ethel said, quietly. “Definitely Dad,” Tina said even more quietly somehow.)
“I suppose we’ll never know,” Daniel finally concluded. “It’s a mystery.” He looked at the latest postcard again one last time (definitely his favourite postcard). “A space mystery!”
“Dad’s dead,” Claire said, stomping into the room from wherever it was in the house she’d been stomping about before. “And his postcards are all stupid.” She snatched them up out of everyone’s hands. “And I am ILL!” She threw them all on the floor and stamped on them. “And this is the worst week ever!”
___________
Notes:
1. The space poem was written on May 10th, 2024
2. And the rest was written on May 14th, 2024