Astronaut

Shortlisted for Cranked Anvil Flash Fiction

I was over the moon when I won the lottery, which turned out to be quite inconvenient. We were en route to Uranus at the time and I didn’t have the heart to inflict a U-Turn on the team. They looked so smart in their silver foil suits and were looking forward to showing the Uraniuns how to plant falafel.

 Plus, I thought the change of plan might piss HQ off.

I’d left the ticket on the mantlepiece, nestling between the cactus and the origami pigeon. I didn’t trust anyone enough to claim the winnings, and was annoyed with myself for not having better friends.

I did my best to forget about it.

When we landed, the Uraniuns showed us how to plough with our minds. They showed us how to turn carrots into tiny orange dollies who walked and talked and sang songs about nightmares. They showed us everything we dreamed of.

Then they showed us more.

But it was futile. The more I learnt, the more consumed I was by thoughts of the unclaimed ticket. I couldn’t stop fantasising about my new life on Earth. I could finally buy a Dyson snow machine and go sledging in peace at Christmas, and Linda would stop hassling me to take her to nicer places instead of Toby Carvery.

I became depressed. I stayed in my cabin all day, scratching off the days on my tally. Four years is a long time to scratch. This was something I came to regret when I was finally reunited with the ticket. The numbers weren’t quite as I’d remembered.

So here I am, back under the moon.