A therapist, Mary, sits with her legs crossed. She eyes her notepad with her hand holding the end of her pen towards her mouth. Across from her sits a couch, and on it, Chris. He lays there staring at the ceiling. Arms rest behind his head. Across the room sits a window, with a clear view outside. Numerous civilian ships fly through the city, in between the skyscrapers.
“Control those thoughts,” Mary says as she looks up from her notepad. “You don’t have to let anxiety take over your life.”
Chris brings his arms forward and sits up. “I know, Doc,” he responds, “it’s just not something I can control.”
She writes down a note in her notepad. “Of course, you can Chris. Part of our journey together is you learning how.”
A timer sounds.
“Looks like we’re out of time,” she says. “How about you come back next week? It won’t be free like this first session, but I can really help you.”
Chris stands up and looks at her. “This did nothing for me.” He walks out.
Outside the building, the front door opens. Chris steps out. The building is tall. Its height almost dizzying. He heads towards a large structure.
Once he arrives, he’s greeted by a console. Several options lay in front of him. He taps a few times on the screen, and the building starts to shake!
A large wall at the front of the building opens. Immediately, a large metal conveyor extends out. Once at its full length, the conveyor descends to the ground. A ship is conveyed outside the building and placed in front of Chris. Behold: the star flea!
He enters his ship and sits in the cockpit. His hand moves towards the ignition. He turns it on…nothing. He kicks the lower console…still nothing. At the end of his patience, he switches the ignition on again. The engine starts to roar with power, but immediately sputters out. He pounds his fists on the console in anger.
“God! God! God! God! God!” he screams as he kicks the lower console.
He lays his head in his arms.
“Okay,” he tells himself.
His pilot’s chair turns around and he stands up. The door at the back of the ship opens and he steps out, walking towards the front of the ship.
He presses a button on the side of his ship and a hatch opens revealing the engine. Still filled with rage, he begins working on it.
For hours…
And hours…
And even more hours…
Trying and trying again to start the engine until finally…at the brink of dusk…still nothing.
He keeps trying to fix it.
He hears his engine hum. “Finally,” he mutters before getting in the cockpit and taking off.
On his way home, he notices a bar and decides to stop. He pulls into the parking lot. Next to him are ships belonging to more financially stable people.
His whole life, he’s been poor. Especially after the disappearance of his father, he lost a role model. Dead end job after dead end job. “Scrub the floors, Chris,” some would say, “clean my lavatory,” others would demand. He has had to deal with too much crap in his life from people who own ships like the ones parked next to his.
He pulls out a pocket knife and begins dragging it on the side of the ship on his left. Then the ship on his right. Scratching some of the paint from both. He then puts the knife back in his pocket and goes inside the bar.
Once inside, he heads immediately to the bartender and sits on a stool. Two very large men look at him from across the room. He pays no mind to it. Instead focusing on the pretty bartender coming his way.
“What’ll it be?” she asks.
“Something strong,” he replies.
“You got it,” a voice from behind replies.
Chris turns around, the two men are standing behind him. One punches Chris in the face, he collapses onto the counter, knocking bottles and glasses over.
“We saw what you did to our cruisers!” The other man yells, right before punching him.
The second punch knocks him onto the floor. Chris tries to crawl forward, but the two men pull him back and begin kicking him repeatedly.
“Stop it!” the bartender yells.
They keep kicking.
She jumps over the counter and punches one of the men square in the face. A punch surprisingly powerful for her slender frame. The man stumbles, holding his bloody nose.
She grabs the other man and pushes him away. He charges at her. She throws a punch at him. He catches it, twisting her arm behind her back. She lifts her leg and kicks him while he’s behind her. He collapses to his knees, holding his groin.
The two men stand up and leave the bar. Embarrassed.
Chris lays on the floor. The bartender leans over and picks him up. He groans. She places him on a chair and grabs a napkin from the table adjacent. She gently wipes the blood from his face.
“How the hell did you do that?” he asks her.
“You thought I couldn’t take them just because I’m a woman?” she replied.
“Sure didn’t stop you,” he retorted.
She smirks.
“Can I still have that drink?” he asks her.
She takes her hands off the napkin, he starts holding them up on his own. “Something strong?”