Case of the Mondays
I hate Mondays. Mondays are the worst. And they are definitely the worst time to attempt atmospheric reentry with one blown engine, vapors in the gas tank and a broken arm.
My ship was essentially a big metal ball of fire hurtling down on the planet, waking up everybody from their beds with the noise because, did I mention, it was a Monday morning?
Of course I was gonna crash it on a Monday.
"Woof!" my best friend said from his seat.
"No, dummy, buckle up," I cried out, pushing him back on the seat. He always wanted to leave his harness, he never quite understood that it was safer that way. "Stay, Friday. Stay."
My astrodog whimpered, from fright, from my screaming in his face, I'm not really sure. It's okay, I'll see to his hurt feelings after we survive the cras
