The Station Is The Place

I wrote the rough draft of this as we rounded up NaNoWriMo 2013.  As a group, we chose four items, and each of us had to write a short story about them.  The best story won a prize.  (That honor went to TR Goodman.)  Our topics were: @#$%ing hoverboards, jellyfish, boots, and two hundred nineteen.  Try to figure out how I incorporated each one. 😉

(Please keep in mind that while I am making this story free for you to read, it’s still mine, so it’s © 2013 by J.M. Scheirer. Please don’t claim it as your own for sales purposes or bragging rights. I have a special set of skills, and I will find you, and… Well, the rest I leave up to your imagination.)

One of the joys of living on a space station is watching all the different species going on their merry ways across the plazas all up and down the levels. This particular station, the one I live on, is huge. I mean, it’s got like two hundred nineteen levels on it, but then again, a lot of them are combined together in places for the races that don’t have your standard oxygen/nitrogen atmosphere breathers. There are some with like lava, and some with ammonia atmospheres, and several with water environments.

I love going to the ones with the water tanks. Those of us who breathe oxygen can stand outside and just watch them go by if we don’t have business with them or something. I swear there’s one race down there that even looks like a bunch of jellyfish. It’s better than going to those zoo things with the robotic animals, since they can’t get the real things.

If I can’t go down to those levels, I spend a lot of time on the mercantile levels. Me and the mates like to mess with the people going shopping. We have to strap on our boots to use our hoverboards when we zoom around everyone so we don’t fall off. Otherwise, we get caught way too easily. That’s right. Hoverboards. Me and my friends use (expletive deleted) hoverboards. Don’t like it? Deal with it.

So, here I am, stuck on this station.  But don’t feel sorry for me.  I make my own fun.