February 15, 2011
I’m on a dangerous mission to space. I am an underling on the ship, but I have had a vision and I know deeply that I will be called to perform a great service that will cost my life. My superiors are treating the mission as if it is a party. The Captain of the ship is a Stepford blonde and was quoted on tv as saying that her only goal for the mission was to take a long walk on the moon, as long as she liked. The ship’s elite arrive and begin drinking and carrying on, and she shoos the underlings out of the party. We sit in the “alley” of the ship dejected. They throw an alien at us for sport, and though I know the alien is not going to hurt us, I seize with panic as it approaches. In a jarring motion it whips its hand in front of my face. On each of its fingertips are five tiny fingertips. He’s mocking me when he whispers, “Evolution.” He flops around in the street suddenly shouting, “Oh, no! But I forgot that its all about feminism!! Feminism is in charge!” That’s it, I think. I walk right into the command center of the ship to find the Captain and her equally Stepfordian co-commanders crafting idly. “They are mocking us and what’s worse, is that your command is empowering men and not women!” The Captain continues gluing her colored foam refusing to answer me. I look to all the women in the room confused, “Does someone else have something to say?” “Don’t worry,” the co-captain assures her Captain, “It won’t spread.” I realize with horror that they consider me mutinous! I realize that the mission is lost if they refuse to hear me. “Don’t you want to know what I mean?” I ask. I want to tell them about my vision, the message from the alien, the great stake of our mission. She shakes her head from side to side, pressing a flower into the glue.
