Astronauts & Apricots

Mission STS-118 Crew - Credit NASA

Fictional stories based upon every day random conversations held between
members of the workforce throughout the working week.

The tension was getting too much to bear, something had to give, something was going to break, or maybe someone would explode, what ever might happen, the situation was definitely getting out of hand, and in more ways than one.

In the world of perfection, like an artist painting a canvas with oils, any part of it on its own, can either look an utter mess, or in the eye of its creator finished to satisfaction, but the whole picture may still go through hundreds of semi-finished versions, before the final brush stroke is applied and it becomes a masterpiece. Only then will others see what was originally intended whilst it was still just a dream, now forever to be left alone and viewed by its admirers as complete and whole.

This was not the case here. First the whole concept had developed beyond the imagination of its author, and the canvas had now become far too small to express his or her needs, for only a town could be shown, where as it is a whole map that is now required to illustrate and convey the emotions originally felt.

This composition has become far too crowded, far more space is required, or each detail will be stepping on the toes of its nearest neighbour, in total it has become just one incredibly blurred mess, and without a complete re-design, it will just fail to achieve its objective in any meaningful way, in fact now it is rapidly becoming a disaster, where each component part, is grinding the others to destruction.

There is though great hope, as those right at the coalface are of stronger stuff and able to use their own comedy and laughter to raise the morale, and relieve the stress of confinement, where elbows are knocking and poking, where and when they are not expected. People have had to grow eyes in the back of their heads, and have also developed a sixth sense of what’s going to cause the next obstruction, and so can avoid upset and any bottleneck, they have in fact become the managers themselves and not the managed, they are now running the show, and those from above rarely to be seen have no idea of the chaos that is now being fought on all fronts, with the effects of Post-traumatic stress disorder becoming an every day occurrence in the ever declining health of those still standing.

Then came the quote of the day, “This machine wants sending into fcuking space.” It came from one of the funniest, most reliable, and likeable people, who with her dancing, singing, clapping, whoops and shouts of delight throughout the day, raise the spirits in all her colleagues, and defuse the pressures that are continually building. Thankfully a safety valve in the form of a few days holiday for all, likened to sticking plasters applied in an accident & emergency department, will bring some temporary solace. Where as what’s really required is serious brain surgery to the head of this battered body, whose broken limbs will need a series of major operations if amputations are not to follow the inevitable gangrene that’s now facing these intrepid explorers in the Desert of Frozen Apricots.

Episode Eight : Black in the Asylum

“Any resemblance between the characters in this story and any persons, living or dead, is a miracle.”