PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

It was nearly supper. Galvin was seated in one of those awkward chairs in the Pantry, awaiting the presence of his fellow cosmonauts. Commander Zentrik had dismissed him from the office and suggested getting familiarized with his future family. The buffet was in the warming trays. Galvin hadn’t even lifted the coverings off any of the dishes to see what they were. He had no appetite and the idea of food alone made him nauseous. He didn’t like to eat when conducting business. He believes it to be a distraction. Instead, he got a bottle of water and sipped on that while reading through his notepad.

He heard a clatter and a chatter erupt from down the halls. As the noise got closer, you could begin to make out the different voices and some of the words. A baritone was in the middle of saying, “Many moons and we are finally in tune.” It sounded as if this man probably had a heavy smoking habit. He himself also sounded to be a heavy man, a big man, and a bit of a beast.

The crew entered the Pantry, all tired and hungry as hell. They went straight to the serving table without giving Galvin the least hint of attention. On the contrary, Galvin was intently observing their behaviors. The first person to enter was the Smoker. He could tell. And he had begun assigning nicknames because both Zen and Sam seemed pretty fond of them. So why not? Galvin adopted a casual attitude, ready to commingle and converse with his companions.

The Smoker served himself a hefty plate of sweet potatoes seasoned with honey and cinnamon. He lifted the peppered asparagus with tongs and placed it on his plate. He picked the best loaf of sourdough available, being the first person there to choose, which he buttered well. When he turned away from the buffet, he saw Galvin and approached the table gesturing as to whether he was welcome to join. Galvin nodded nonchalantly and said hello.

Of course the man reeked of stale tobacco. It went as far as to completely mask the smell of the delicious dinner. The aroma rose like screaming cells into Galvin’s nostrils. Furthermore, a cigarette was there dangling from a gold ring in one of his ears. It swayed like a playground swing with every motion of his scarred and spikey-haired head. His appearance filled Galvin with dread.

As the line of crewmates were serving themselves to their stomachs’ delight, the Smoker sat and smiled a hungry smile with crooked teeth. “Done took ya long enough to get here, mate!” he said and then commenced to shovel food into his face very much like a pirate bastard or a primate. 

The table began to crowd with the fated, swarming crew. Each one of the men beamed brightly with their own special kind of blood, brimming and overflowing their brains and staining their beige. The same blood that Cardamax was provided, Galvin thought, timelessly immortal from the rare regions of creation and its love unearthed. There is a reason why humans are so dynamic. Because we are home to infinite ghosts. He jotted this into his diary.

There were only five options at the buffet; and one of those not yet mentioned was steak. Only half the crewmates’ plates had steak on it. Which means the other half were probably honorable vegetarians, like Galvin himself. And Galvin could see as soon as everyone who plated the steaks made their first cut into them that they were all prepared red and rare. Blood being drained. The image of blood was more pronounced than the mere idea and therefore resulted in upsetting his stomach; and not just his stomach but his overall spirit and psyche inclusive. He considered how Cardamax might desire to thrive off of such a substance, let alone his crewmates.

The crew was comprised of some interesting folks. Take Rambler for example. He goes on and on of a princess he pursued on the north shore of Nantucket when he engaged himself as a merchant sailor. This was long ago. He was staying at an inn and she appeared to him seemingly out of the cold, whispering wind. It was a spark of love at first sight, he said, and he is sick with regret, never took the chance to kiss the fair maiden, although she herself dearly wished he would. He hopes she remembers him well, as he remembers her.

“I am simply a dumb idiot. She was so gorgeous that it made me want to weep. And evermore forward I will also worship the memory and pretend something actually happened there,” he said, waving his knife around like the conductor of a slaughterhouse opera.

“Well, why don’t you track her down, if you think you had the chance, instead of shooting into another space voyage?” asked the person sitting by his side.

“I have lost interest in chasing my phantoms, Ned,” the Rambler said. “That’s it. Ain’t a valid reason to it. Nothing worthwhile is brought about in any bit of existence. We are stuck in a vacuum that corrupts our ability to enjoy life. With or without her I am a trifle.”

Ned was a nerd, a nervous guy, but incredibly intelligent. He wore small, circular glasses that shimmered orange with the sunset thru the big window. He was clean cut with a thick and shining blonde mullet, just a hint of stubble painted shadowy on his face. He is the one who wires the whole ship, robots and everything. He is also the inventor of every bot currently serving on LS6000. He can confidently call it his home there. He’s known Sam and Zen for a long time.

Speaking of whom, a poodle came prancing into the Pantry. It hopped hyper on its hindlegs and bounced off the walls. It made it a thing to give one quick lick to every man present. Then, all of a sudden, Samantha slid swiftly into the doorframe on the marble floors with her socks. She was wearing woolen socks now, since it was getting dark and cool, and she had set the ridiculous headdress aside. Her hair was short like a boy’s, having shaved it bald a few months ago. For what purpose, I don’t know. But she sure makes a beautiful brunette nonetheless; properly alluring I must confess, with a tight body and a wildcat persona. She clapped her hands together and strutted into centerstage of the perilous pink pantry.

The men swiveled around in their egg-shaped chairs to behold the captivating, coy nature of this lady with their own eyes. Galvin’s notepad was sitting in front of him, open on the table, and so he picked up his pencil and sketched. He is no professional, by any means, but let him be. If you can enjoy what it is you do, don’t let anyone stop you. He sketched the scene for the memory. Portraits on pocketbook pages are a personal pleasure.

“Alrighty boys, if I may intrude,” was Sam’s interlude. “Don’t worry though, you may keep eating your food. I just have a small speech to give to you,” she said as she simultaneously scanned the faces in the room, gathering the cosmonauts’ characteristics on pure intuition, wondering whether they welcomed Galvin as much as she had.

“Allow me to introduce your captain, if you haven’t met him already. His name Is Galvin. Or you can call him Vinny. Give him your highest respects. He will pass the test. I, Samantha Beans, as Leader and Overseer of this facility, would like for you boys to explain the events you saw on the holograph, remember? Tell him your stories until your eyes eventually shut, and you are launched into oblivion of deep sleep. Bedtime stories. The actual hologram will be available for your viewing tomorrow, Vinny… Good night, prominent peoples of earth’s expansion! I am going to light my special candle and pray that soon is the day we eliminate our prey.”