Quarantine Writing Challenge

An impulse buy leading to intergalactic warfare

Could I have settled with just one? No. There were many. What am I talking about, you may ask? This is a secret I'll be carrying to my grave. I should be there soon now. My memories begin to fade and I'm finding it hard to breathe. What's happening? The mistake I made put me on the run; I changed my name, I dyed my hair, and left everything I knew in the rear-view mirror of a rusted 1997 Ford Aerostar I won at an auction last November. Hardly put me back at all. I just can't resist a deal. It's also pretty good on gas.

The Areostar has been Ford's foray into intergalactic vehicles. To move at lightspeed it has a hyperdrive, which was broken, to start with. I found the components to fix it at a pawn shop in Santa Monica. Don't assume I'm dying because of the war, it's much less complex. I was listening to a real banger on satellite radio, and got distracted. I hit a space cow on my way to a motel I booked a room in on an asteroid 50 million clicks past the Pacino Garbanzo Nebula. I'm not getting there now. My windshield is speckled with hundreds of cosmic gnats and protozoa, and now there's a crack there, and I'm losing oxygen.

"Wait. If you were driving a van through space and the windshield cracked, wouldn't exposure to the vacuum of open space fuck you up long before a loss of oxygen?"

"No, man. I took a couple Astronomy courses in University. You won't freeze or explode in open space. You'd be unconscious in 15 seconds due to hypoxia. It wouldn't be that"

"I don't get it. Besides, when's this getting interesting? When do you rail some space chick with three tits? When do you vaporize a bunch of aliens with your blaster?"

"Yeah, sure. Just turn the volume down, I'm getting distracted"

As I said, I'm losing oxygen; it's not looking good for me. I suppose it's time for me to explain why I've been on the run. I can't run any longer. My crimes will be found out and I'll make history. From what you know about me already, you can probably figure out that I'm a collector. I collect rocks, mainly. I mean, space debris and rare gems. That's how I ended up here. When I say I can't settle with one, I mean it. My collection is taking up the back seat and weighing me down. I should have just dumped it, but I can't.

It took me a while to realize I messed up. I bought a dark purple stone attached to a key-ring after one too many Vodka Sours at the Cosmic Girl. One of my regular hangouts. The waitress there had three breasts, and she was definitely bangable, but something else caught my eye. A little green fellow with whips of silvery hair on his balding head, staring at me from across the bar. With his crooked finger he beckoned me to move closer.

"Do you want me to finish this?"

"No, wait. I want another hit. I'm almost done"

Well, I left that place with a new piece to add to my collection. The next day, intergalactic war broke out. It seemed to happen without an explanation. And a week later, I saw a purple-haired queen on the news one morning, missing a jewel on her crown.

"Fuck me. That was pretty good. I'm glad you bought it"

"Yeah. 'Intergalactic Warfare.' I'd buy it again. Do you think it made my writing better?"

"I don't know. Maybe? Let's try some 'Millennium Falcon'"

"Fuck. I'm really feeling it now. I'll finish this later"