corndogs-dont-lie

He stumbled out from the bathroom, drenched in ichor. “I just killed God.” “Cool,” I said. “Hey, while you’re up, can you grab me a soda from the fridge?” He nodded and disappeared into the kitchen. I laid back on the couch and turned on the television. Good as new, I thought. Killing the celestial creature seemed to have done the trick. “Hey Chris! Are there any chips left? Can you grab those as well?” I called. Chris emerged from the kitchen with a soda, a beer, and a half-empty bag of chips. He collapsed beside me on the couch, handed me my soda and chips, and popped open his beer. The divine liquid that covered his body was slowly hardening on his skin, giving him a golden shine. “Is the TV fixed?” he asked. He put the beer to his lips and gulped down most of it in one go. “Yup, look,” I said as I flipped through the channels. “No more lag, the picture looks great, and I swear there are more channels on here than before.” Chris nodded sagely, as if he knew this was going to

The beeping, which had at first caused my palms to sweat and my legs to tremble, was now nothing more than a constant dull throbbing inside my skull. I closed my eyes and let it pulse through me, a grim reminder of the inevitable. We were small and weak and foolish and there was nothing we could do. Outside my porthole window, frozen bodies spun like snowflakes against the darkness of space. Their unseeing eyes bulged and their mouths screamed endlessly into the abyss. I could not bear to look at them. They were my crewmates, my friends. And they died screaming. Who would remember them, I wondered. Who would tell their stories? Who would scratch their names onto bland headstones guarding empty graves? Who would hold the drooping shoulders of their loved ones as they listened to an unremarkable eulogy dedicated to the wasted lives of unnamed martyrs? Who would care? A distant explosion rocked the ship. I tensed, waiting for the blast to push open my bedroom door and fill my lungs