Monday Morning Commute: Drink of the Chalice and Dream of the Sun

December 13th, 2016 by Rendar Frankenstein

Standing in front of the starcruiser’s big bay windows, Lonnie stared into the abyss of the chalice in his hands.

“G’head now, m’boy, no needsfer delayin’.”

“But, but, Grampa…I…I don’t wanna. It smells bad.”

“Maybe so, maybe so. But if we’re gonna kick this baby into hyperspace, we needta go to sleep first. So be a g’boy and drink up.”

Lonnie’s gaze shifted from the chalice to bay windows and then back to the chalice. He thought, just for a moment. A single moment. Just long enough to remember Momma and Poppa and Brother Reggie and how good it felt to be on terra firma, grass between the toes and sun upon the brow. How good it would feel, again.

And then he drank.

“Thazzaboy! Okay, Lonnie, y’goan to your sleep-pod now and I’mma set the coordinates!”

“Sweet dreams, Grampa! Hope you dream of the sun like I’m gonna!”

“Thazz right! Thazz right! Dream of the sun!”

And with that Grampa took a swig deep enough to empty the chalice. And then he sat down in front of the big bay windows of the starcruiser. And then he started to dream of the sun. And then he dreamed of his son, and dreamed of his son dreaming of Lonnie. And then he wept and wept and closed his eyes tight.

`Cause when you’re two hyperjumps away from home and you’re out of fuel, all you can do is dream of the sun.

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This is a public announcement. The MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE has been commandeered. My name is Rendar Frankenstein and I mean you no harm. Join me and we’ll discuss what the fuck we’ll do in the hopes of getting out of this workweek in one piece.

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Avoidin’ Spoilers:
Rogue One: A Star Wars Story