Toothache Chronicles Part 1

The painkillers have inspired me to keep a medical log. First entry: “Becalmed for the seventh day. Crew becoming restless, starting to build makeshift whales for them to harpoon out of the sailcloth. First Mate has taken to clinging to the figurehead. He calls her ‘Lucy van Pelt’ and keeps trying to feed her hardtack. Many sailors stricken with the scurvy. May God help us through this trial.”

“It is time to accept that we are lost in this godforsaken jungle. The Temple of Orel-Hersch, and its precious map-stone, stays tantalizingly out of reach. Dangerously low on supplies, we have been forced to eat Timmy, the spunky little boy who stowed away in my steamer trunk, longing for adventure. The guides have all wandered off, either to be eaten by the tigers, or to eat them in turn. It’s hard to figure out which from the screams in the night. Should any kind soul find this, tell my wife she may never remarry, and tell my uncle that he was wrong, there are no bears for his circus here. Only clowns.”

“medical log, final entry. Doc says our hyperthrusters are destroyed, and we all have Space-Flesh Eating Bacteria. Soon we will be pools of protoplasm on the floor of a wrecked spaceship on a desolate moon no one cares about. I am typing this with my feet, as my hands fell off. Abd my dose. The one thing that brings me solace is the fact that I set my Tivo to record all the episodes of Space All My Children While I was gone. I can now dissolve a happy man. Glub.”