Saturday's Storyteller: The Planet Of George

The Planet Of George

by Belinda Roddie

The planet of George had room for only one man - George, of course - and his two cats, Rocky and Balboa. He's set up his rocket with a cozy mancave, where he watches TV, drinks beer, and eats pork rinds. The TV is only set to one channel: Constant replays of historical World Series baseball and Super Bowls and NBA championships. Hell, maybe even a few US Opens here and there. And even Ultimate Frisbee or ping pong. He wishes he could watch the Olympics, though.

George never married, so he doesn't have kids to worry about. His cats have enough food to last them forty lifetimes. Balboa's actually a girl, and neither feline is fixed, so he hopes she'll actually copulate with Rocky and have some kittens that he can tend to. Outside the rocket home, they get to play along craters and across blue grass and atop tiny hills built as if by ants. There are no bugs to speak of here. Means no mosquitoes. George is okay with this.

His mother emails him daily. The wifi on his planet is extraordinary. He thanks Elon Musk, even though these days, he finds the Tesla man to be kind of a twat. George always responds in a timely manner to his mom. The most recent news is that she quit the diet pills and stopped selling Herbalife. Good - MLMs can suck George's unimpressive chode. And he probably wouldn't feel anything on account of the massive amounts of alcohol and grease he consumes.

George does not listen to music on his planet, though he does play guitar. He remembers all the best songs: Purple Haze, House of the Rising Sun, Smoke on the Water, Fortunate Son. Wish You Were Here is his favorite to play, of course. It might be a clichéd favorite of every Floyd fan, but he's religious about his picking and strumming. The cats like listening, and sometimes, they add to the vocals.

When it gets dark, George makes himself a weak cup of coffee with the lifetime supply of grounds he has, dumps a healthy dose of cheap whiskey into the brew, steps outside into the cosmic twilight, and drinks himself to sleep as he looks at the stars. In this particular solar system, the constellations are different. There are at least three moons that orbit his planet. Maybe four. He can't tell because it's so tiny, and he doesn't have a telescope.

He misses his brother, Otto. And his sister, Chelsea. And the painting of King George III, the Mad King, whom George was named after. And the solar system model made from clay where he focused heavily on Uranus - a planet that also once shared his name. And the signed poster from Bob Dylan. And the collection of James Baldwin books he used to zealously read in college before he "repented."

And Alan.

But he doesn't talk about Alan.

The cats get hungry halfway through George's booze-fueled coma. He stirs enough to provide enough kibble, water, and treats to sate them. The water here is fresher than anythiing on Earth. He drinks it by the handful when he walks along the shores. The sand is blue, like the dunes of Mars. George doesn't know why it's blue. Oxidation? If so, the oxygen will kill him before he's seventy.

George is fifty-six.

He pours his coffee out for Alan.

Alan died fifteen years ago.

He never got to join George on his planet.

A planet that now only has room for one man.

This week's prompt was inspired by the game "Fibbage" from Jackbox. We learned that Uranus was originally named after King George III, so...yeah, I ran with it.