Good Boy: A Six Sentence Story
Written by Shawn Funk
Through a portside window on the stern, he watched as hundreds of metal fragments from the bow of his ship sparkled and glistened in the sun against cold space; it might have been beautiful, but he wasn’t celebrating; the bodies of his crewman spun and whirled farther out, tangled up in the web from the onboard computer’s micro-optic cables.
His magnetic boots clanked toward the Geronimo escape tube hatch near the end of the passageway, Clank! Clank! Clank! a red light blinked the word ‘disabled’.
His body shook, collapsed against the escape hatch and onto the metallic floor, finally scared, finally lonely, and afraid to die alone, he watched as grey smoke slowly crept down the corridor toward him.
A black sphere the size of a small marble fell from his pocket, rolled on the checker-plated floor in front of him; leaning back, he stared into the sphere as faint light began to glow from its smooth surface; a gift for his nephew, but now he needed it.
Light flooded around the black marble and a floppy eared holo-puppy resolved, jumping, turning, and smiling at him.
He thought about his nephew as the dog whirled around, rolling onto its back, barking playfully; a teardrop fell across his quivering smile, and he forced himself to speak the words, ‘good boy.’