Death in Space

(Note: this story features death.)

A storm. Clouds were gathering overhead as buckets of rain sledged through the air. Droplets so thick that they could have been used as coke bottle lenses. The air was moist, but still breathable. As the light of the sun became subsumed, there was an issue of conscience.

Miralda walked down the street, dodging puddles and the occasional taxi. The air was choking in its finality, each drop separating her from herself even more. As she walked, she noticed a sensation in her boot.

“Hull breach. Hull integrity falling.”

She walked down Hapsburg Street until she made it towards the edge of downtown, where the ocean was lapping its waves. It was such a beautiful sight; the powerful water eating away at the earth, the people scurrying through the streets like drowned rats.

Soon, she made it to the office. Almost immediately, the rain began to subside. The waves, while seemingly insurmountable, had gone back into their ethereal sheaths. Miralda walked towards the elevator, ignoring the lowly security attendant as she walked by. He was used to it.

When she got into the elevator, she realized that she had enough water on her, at that moment, to host her own rain party. It didn’t help that they always had the AC jacked up around here.

“Jesus, what do I look like, a woolly mammoth?”

With little fanfare, and a whole lot of squeak, she made it to her floor. As she walked onto “The Cage,” she was certain that she had forgotten to track more water into the building. She walked past the receptionist, not saying a word, then walked past all of her erstwhile coworkers, her squeakiness present though not the focus of her being there.

Soon, she made it to the office she was looking for. She could hear the voices inside. One was that of the regional director, Fage Mattingly. The other was that of the director of marketing, Maxin Dobe.

“Hello, Maxin,” said Miralda as she walked into the open room.

Maxin was reclined on a table, wearing his trademark Italian suit. It was made of silk. The patterns were understated while demonstrating the craftmanship of a thousand-year dynasty. It was a Figaroa.

“Why, hello Miralda.”

“It seems we’re at an impasse,” said Miralda, still soaked.

“Now, I don’t want any trouble,” said Fage.

“Oh, I know where this is heading,” said Maxin.

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Miralda. “I was just wondering, because I got a call from the boys over at Destructo Boys and they said they were going to chip in.”

“How much?”

“What do you mean, how much?” Said Miralda.

“I mean…Excuse me if you will. Fage and I were just talking about.”

“It’s okay, Maxin. You don’t have to…”

“If I tell you how much, what do I get?”

“We’ll cut up your pink slip and use it as a garnish for your breakfast cereal.”

“Ha, ha, ha. Not funny.”

“Then, why did you say, ‘Ha, ha, ha?’”

“I was clearing my throat.”

“Let’s just relax,” said Fage. “Maxin, Miralda, let’s not go overboard.”

Just then, Miralda looked at Maxin like a lion tracking its prey. She could see his blood, his vital life force, ready for the taking.

“One million.”

“One million what? One million pocket protectors? One million ballerinas on the head of a pin? One million what?”

“Dollars.”

“Wow. I never expected that. One time?”

“No.”

“Per year?”

“No. Per month.”

“Per month?” said both men, looking at one another.

“Is that adjusted for inflation?” said Fage.

“It’s adjusted for these ovaries. Now, I’m not going to chirp about this like some kind of low-rent chatterbox.”

“What do you want?” said Fage, his arms folded in front of him.

“I want in.”

“You want ‘in’?” said Maxin. “What is this, The Little Rascals? Do I look like an Alfalfa to you?”

“Look, boys…”

“No,” said Maxin. “This isn’t going to stand. We need to be able to…”

Just then, Miralda looked outside to see that the sun was out. It had snuck up on her. The sun was shining, and it was harsh. Each ray of sunlight seemed to be carrying in another universe.

Just then, the building began to shake. It was a subtle thing at first, but a surprise. This had never happened before. Miralda stood there, trying to resist the urge to seek cover, trying to look as though she needed nothing. No one. The building continued to shake, slowly beginning to lean to the side.

“Another one of your schemes?” said Miralda.

“Oh my God! It’s an earthquake!” said Fage.

About two hours later, Miralda woke up in the hospital. Wrapped in a blanket with a bandage across her head, she was immediately struck by the over-reliance on air conditioning in her surroundings.

Everything was so sterile. So unforgiving. Not even the smallest microbe could survive amongst these Fabian instruments. It was a feeling she was not used to. Luckily, she had a room with a window. She looked out to see that light rain was pouring.

“My whole life was work,” said Miralda, looking out the window.

Suddenly, a nurse walked in, carrying a clipboard with a few papers on it. She had a pen in your hand.

“Hello, and what is your name?” said the nurse.

“You took off my underwear and you don’t even know my name?”

“I know your name. And I still have your underwear. I just wanted to make sure that you knew what your name was.”

“I? Why would I…?”

Miralda thought for a while. Was it Jane? Zena, Warrior Princess? One of Louis XVI’s wives? Who could tell in this crazy modern world.

“Meh…Mare…Mary…Miaralda…”

“Oh, slow down, speed queen. We’re all out of gold medals.”

“Hilarious! You know, you should be doing standup right now. I think they have a comedy club in the alley on fifth street and Toms.”

“Look, you hit your head, okay?”

“I hit my head, or my head hit me?”

“What?”

“I don’t know What. Do you?”

“Anyway, uh, we wanted you to know that there weren’t that many survivors.”

“Oh, don’t tell me that.”

“No, seriously, you’re lucky to be alive.”

“I…I was only alive when I was working. I only had an identity when I was…making deals.”

“You can still make deals. When it’s time for you to pay your doctor’s bills.”

After about three days, Miralda was released from the hospital under her own recognizances. It was an overcast, but dry day outside. The evidence of past rains. As she climbed onto the bus, she contemplated her life.