Lunacy
Or,
Sea of Tranquility, My Ass
By Calvin Liu
The last time I took a mission to the moon, the other two astronauts planned to play a trick on me. I guess I should have seen it coming; I was sort of a shrimp, and they bullied me all throughout training. They had no idea what they were in for once we stepped on the lunar surface.
As I was getting out of the spaceship, the commander told me to turn around, and when I did, the other astronaut knelt behind me, and the commander pushed me over. I didn't exactly topple right then, instead stumbling around a bit, missing the hand rails on either side of the hatch, thinking how could I have fallen for such a stupid trick and how did these boobs ever become astronauts, then slipping on a washer that had come loose during liftoff, and finally being pushed one more time by the commander, right through the door. Lunar gravity aside, I took a mean faceplant on the moon's surface. The most embarrasing part was when I cracked my helmet on a moon rock.
As my spacesuit depressurized and I began to asphyxiate, the other astronauts climbed out of the ship and stood over me, totally not helping, busting bad jokes left and right, calling me names like Space Face and Sir Suffocate and No Helmet Boy. Seriously, people, real mature.
I'll bet they didn't expect me get the last laugh, though. They were still cackling like hyenas, not a clue of what was about to happen, when my head exploded all over their spacesuits, pieces of brain and brow and everything. Ha! In your face, flyboy! And you know what? Even bleach won't get all those blood stains out! Explain that to NASA!
Calvin Liu is editor of The Glut and managing editor of Bullfight: A Literary Review. He is not commonly referred to as the eighth Apollo astronaut, and when asked if he is, gets mad.