Houston: We Have A Problem...

Note: This story was an entry for the March 12, 2011 Something About Cliché Contest. To view the contest rules, click on Contest Rules:

Yes the rules:

1. MUST FOLLOW PROMPT AND WORD COUNT (or be disqualified.)
2. Word count : 300-800 words. (I have a short attention... ooohhhh look a kitty)
3. Bitem format. {Bitem:number of entry} (no spaces)
4. I dont care about grammar. But if I have a guest judge who does I will say so in the prompt, but if there is HUGE Duh type mistakes I will call you on it... use caution, just dont be sloppy. oh and I have spell check, I suggest you may want to use yours too... (remember Pete and Re-pete... and if you don't know this one, just ask).

Prompt:
Week One:
Start with the cliché "There is no place like home." write 300-800 words and don't use any more clichés.  It can be about anything, just use "There is no place like home." to start it out with. Have fun and get to writing! Dont forget I have a short attention span and really need to be interested to keep reading.

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Houston: We Have a Problem...

By Indelibleink

"There's no place like home. Which reminds me, John...How soon do we re-enter the earth's atmosphere and land this bad boy?"

"Bernie...We just entered orbit five minutes ago! You know very well that this will be the biggest mission of our lives. How on earth can you already be homesick?" The disgust with his co-pilot was written all over John Baskin's face; it's just that you couldn't see it because he had his helmet - complete with Cool Ray visor - on. "People on earth will be so proud of..."

It was becoming abundantly clear that Bernie might not have been totally "flight-ready" for this mission. "What do you have to keep saying earth for, man? You're really making me homesick." With that, the sniffles began. Bernie reached into his utility pocket and brought out a small travel pack of Kleenex. Feeling like "quite the planner" for having remembered the tissues, he quickly reverted to "quite the idiot" when he discovered that tissues weren't all that effective outside the pressure helmet assembly. This little setback actually resulted in increased tear flow, followed by some sobbing that proved to be very irritating to his space partner.

"Oh, for the love of..." John was already contemplating the taking of drastic measures, but then acknowledged to himself the fact that he didn't want to go down in history as being the one to commit the first weightless murder. He grabbed Bernie's shoulder and turned him a bit in order to face him, with the hope that a simple "death-look" might be sufficient to make Bernie come around.

That was not to be, however, as the inside of Bernie's helmet was completely steamed up from the high level of moisture from Bernie's impromptu rendition of Niagara Falls. Fortunately for all concerned, the "Internal Cabin Pressure Stability" light (located just above the "Space Cruise Control" light, but just below the "Break Glass In Case of Fire" sign) had switched from red to green. Incidentally, some joker mounted the "Break Glass In Case..." sign just below a port for an outside window, which is so not funny in deep space. Anyway, John was now able to remove his helmet. Of course, since Bernie's view was obstructed from the dense fog which still existed in his helmet - and probably even more-so inside his head - John toyed with the idea of not saying anything to Bernie - thinking it might be fun to watch a visually-impaired Bernie walk around and bump into things.

Ever the professional, however, John took the high road. "Bernie...Everything's cool pressure-wise. You can remove your space helmet now."

Bernie emitted a huge sigh of relief, and began to loosen the helmet attaching ring, but then stopped suddenly. "Wait a minute...Are you sure, John? Or are you just saying that so you can see my head blow up to the size of a beach ball in zero atmosphere and then explode like a savagely-beaten pinata?"

John laughed and briefly regretted not having thought of that himself first, but grabbed Bernie's hand and brought it up to John's helmet-less face. "See? No tricks, my friend. Not only are you homesick...you're paranoid, to boot!"

Bernie noted something unusual fastened beneath the control panel, and reached down and picked it up. "John, what is this?" It looked strikingly similar to a large butterfly net.

"Don't you remember any of the flight school classes? That's used if you throw-up in weightlessness - something of a puker-scooper - if you will. It can also come in handy if we explore a planet full of butterflies, too."

"Wow! Multi-functional? That's awe..."

Suddenly, the spacecraft lurched back and forth a couple of times, shuddered, and the passengers could sense the craft moving with increasing speed. Alarms and flashing lights soon dominated the cabin of the tiny vessel, but the alarm that got the most attention was the really huge one that was flashing violently, and said,"Decaying orbit -corrective action required immediately."

Bernie was beside himself, struggling with the zipper on his utility pocket to procure more tissues. "What do we do, John? I'm scared!"

John wasn't entirely sure what to do...but was certainly less confident when the alarm screen went blank for a moment and then read, "Too late for corrective action - you might want to tie up any loose ends instead..."

Bernie was now frantic, and reached for the butterfly net. "I think I'm going to need this!"

Inexplicably, the ship stopped shaking, the alarms and sirens stopping also. Bernie, clutching his chest - as well as you could through a space suit - whispered, "I think we're dead, John."

A voice came from a small overhead speaker.

"Thanks for riding the Thrills 'N Chills Space Flight Simulator. Please depart through the double doors on the right."

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Words: 799