[Weekly Writ is an entertainment project where we take story suggestions from our Your Ad-Vantage Facebook page and turn those ideas into a silly flash-fiction or commercial-style vignette every week. This week was written by Your Ad-Vantage’s Loren Rugen!]
The ship, or what I can best describe as a ship, soars onward through empty space, headed toward, as it seemed, nothing but empty space. However, we were indeed very near the threshold of our destination. In a matter of several minutes, and several thousand miles, my companions and I will attempt to behold the most ominous natural phenomenon on God’s green earth, er, black universe. You understand my point.
The uncertainty of this situation arose a trepidation nearly as dense as our enthusiasm. The milestone of man’s first step on the moon will be swallowed up on the hype of what we will behold. This crew will gaze upon what no optical nerves have ever processed. Quite frankly, no one is certain how my brain might attempt to assimilate the visual data.
Some physicians have warned of adverse effects on the eyes and even the brain if this anomaly of astrophysics breached my retina. “It could end up like putting a vacuum cleaner tube to your eyes!” one burly professor expressed. I found the irony of his statement apparent.
My stars! I digress. We are thirty seconds from the calculated threshold of visibility. But let me be more precise here for a moment, if I may. I speak in terms of a threshold due to the exact angle we must be arranged at for our object of observation to ‘appear.’ This is because of the barrier of warped space time. This not only irregulates the linear existence of matter, but even the path of wavelength patterns, in this case, the visible spectrum. A distortion blurred my view for a moment then snapped into focus. I beheld the phenomenon in unadulterated clarity, gaping wide before me.
“What do I see? What do I see?” I cry in a loss of composure, frenzied according to the law of excitement in discovering the unknown. Yet, I suppose no one else will ever share my personal encounter. For my crew, my companions these last sixteen years, is the apparatus attached to my person. It has memorized my brain activity, blood pressure, retinal response, temperature and so forth for the benefit of those on earth, once they receive transmission of the data.
Thus, my destination being reached, my journey is nearing the end. For I have left out, until now, that this threshold I speak of is descriptive of another arrival: the point of no return.
The ship soars onward toward the emptying of space, my sacrifice for science now complete.