Icelandic Astronaut - A puppet show
The Icelandic astronaut has climbed a glacial stairwell to where there is not air anymore so high. He was sent up to do his time on the tip of the world it took weeks months even more to climb all the way up there. Planes could not reach the heights to which the Icelandic astronaut was trying to travel so his government had to be very careful about using cannons to shoot much needed supplies all the way to the Ice Naut.
The plan was he would get to the top and assess the military scientific and philosophical value that the highest glacial peak would afford his Icelandic govt. He was supplied a bungee cord so that he could repel from the top when his term of service was over. He drove his spike deep into the mass of the cliff so it would hold when all that momentum jerked it hard. When the spike was immobilized our ice naut made a quick prayer and jumped off the cliff getting ready bear himself against the first 10g bounce of bungee. But he was so high up he floated straight up off the ice cliff. He had to sip beer through a straw cause of the near zero gravity that high up. All of the ice naut's sustenance had to be provided in govt issued bladders.
From this height individuals are too small to see but when two or more come in proximity of each other then they manifest on the ice naut’s retina like morning dew. All kinds of people coming together in all kinds of ways
High fives, Eskimo kissing, leapfrog, sumo wrestling, double dutch, frenching, zygote conception, birth from water breaking till the cord gets cut
These sort of couplings capture his attention ripples in a body of water, but once the couple separates the ripple rewind back to the smooth lonely surface like thin gray lips thin and breaking on a seashore.
He dreams that the Icelandic population all gather beneath him to compose a love letter.
The people he has watched over the couples he has blanketed with true tears and blown kisses and well wishes. They spell out words for him like a marching band, the nocturnal procession spells out the words ‘come home, we miss you’.
In dreams he prays. He selects five stars at perpendicular right angles and prays to his own invented constellation in the shape of a cross in the dream his prayer is answered suddenly he is caught up in a wave or a bubble or a ripple and gravity brings him down down down. He is coming home hard and fast, a comet at suicidal speed.
All the grandfathers of the world simultaneously take off their toupees and hurl them into a pile hoping that that much fur and netting and sweat and glue will break the ice naut’s fall.
The fall does not kill him but breaks a bunch of his nervous cells in the spinal cord. He is paralyzed. He can not move anything not a piece of his body at all. He can not even blink. His meal time sustenance bladder all punctured in the fall and he covered in red meaty protein paste that the people of Iceland mistake for his gore.
They hold a funeral and put him in a casket. Each person has a turn at he microphone during the pre burial wake and after telling stories of how they love him, dreamed with him, through him touched the heavens, old school days, prom night, how they lost their virginity under his watchful eyes while he gazed at the back seat of their oldsmobiles.
Though still paralyzed he is so moved by the stories he involuntarily weeps. But what is this, in the weeping perhaps there might be a glimmer a tiny bit of hope. If someone can see the stream of tears running down his inaminate face they will know his is still alive. They will know not to close the lid of the casket. They will know he is still there with them. But fate plays a trick and the clouds gather above quickly and start to rain. No one wants to let the torrent pour on the honorable remains of their beloved ice naut, their fallen friend father uncle and a multitude of umbrella pop open like champagne corks over the open casket. Through the tears in his eyes and the few drops of precipitation there is nothing to be seen but dozens strike that thousands of umbrella standing sentinel watch. Like bats stretching their wings. The tears that can be seen are mistaken for rain drops that snuck through the fabric.
And over the thunder and the lightning and the flapping of umbrellas and the creaking hinges of the slowly closing casket lid the Icelandic astronaut can hear the barking of his very best friend of all the running and barking of the dog running down the glacial stairs howling at the top of its canine lungs a discernible sort of doggie shout out almost human almost forming the words do not do it! He is not dead? The ice naut is alive!
The dog a st Bernard who ran supplies up and down the ice cliffs when cloud cover made cannon and chute delivery to dangerous, the dog tears through the breaking the bat spines and leaving dead crippled umbrellas in his wake and just as the tiny last beam of light is about to disappear, the dog uses its snout as a pick axe and shovels its nose and jaws into the closing maw of the premature casket.
This when the Icelandic astronaut wakes up, afraid to more his fingers his toes.
The dog Is a big dog trained to climb the ice shaved stairwell and deliver bladders of red beefy protein paste in govt issue bladders and gray pillowy bladders of stout Icelandic beer.