Every Thursday we face a challenge to tell a story in three minutes. We know not all of them will be winners, but it’s a great opportunity to grow as writers and push the envelope of creativity. We hope you’ll be inspired to do something similar.
The programming on this pod is beyond my technical knowledge. I’ve tried without any success to alter its course—to force it to land on any one of a dozen planets thus far, but I’ve had no success.
My formula is still fully active. An old friend, the one who developed it, made some adjustments from the original. It lasts much longer now. Additionally, the new formula allows me to fall into dust form with much greater ease—as much good as that’s done me, trapped in an air tight hunk of metal, hurling through space.
The data signal is rather strong in this whole quadrant. I’ve been journaling from the High Father’s holodesk for several days. I’m unaware, however, which entries have actually seen the light of day—have found their way onto the UniNet.
If I believed in god, I’d be praying that the pod would finally find its place of rest. According to the High Father, I’d be praying to myself and I promise you I would not be much of a god.