flashfiction, microfiction

‘Spaceship’

 september_prompt_crop_0

The floor’s malfunctioning.  It won’t stay under our feet.

I grab Eric Pfister’s arm, then hand.  He holds Emily Chatterjee’s.  The three of us slowly drift toward the turbines churning half a mile above us, thinking our own thoughts.

See, Mother?  You were wrong about me dying old and alone.

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