There’s A Reason Garfield Hates Mondays

There’s a reason Garfield hates Mondays.

I get up from the warm vinyl of the mattress. I shake off the dirty comforter and throw it into a heap on the floor. I really should wash that, if I could just bring myself out of this funk and bother to head down to the lower levels of the ship again. It’s been months.

The sirens are blaring (again), the red lights are flashing (again), and the room is awash in mechanical panic (again).

I am not.

I get up in the red ambiance of the flashing warning lights, in the absolute din of the resounding klaxons that echo in my room in the berths and through the metal corridors. I stretch. I yawn. I walk over to the beeping coffee machine and push the button to silence its mindless electronic chirping. I grab a mug from the shelving below the counter and pour myself a cup of the steaming liquid. I sip the brown sludge and it is disgusting. It’s vile, but it is caffeinated, and that’s all that matters.

There’s a reason Garfield hates Mondays. And out here in Delta Quadrant, every day is Monday.

I remembered how it used to be, as I groggily shambled down the hallway. The red lights kept flashing. I felt like a reptile in a terrarium beneath heat lamps. The klaxons kept blaring but I barely heard them. Try to catch me now, copper! I thought to myself and chuckled half-heartedly.

I remembered how it used to be, when I cared. When I gave a shit about critical damage and hull breaches and electrical anomalies and life support systems failing. Now I didn’t. If I reached the bridge in time to tell the stupid automated systems fix whatever problem they were squawking about, fine. If I died in my sleep, or was enveloped in a fireball before I shuffled down the corridor, cup of vile brown sludge in hand, fine. None of it mattered anyway.

I turned the corner and enter the bridge, its lifeless metal openness greeting me with indifference. The sirens continue to blare. The red warning lights continue to flash.

I yawn, and push a button on the console. I look down at the pile of dust next to the seat. The pile of dust had once been bones. The bones had once been a body. The body had once been the captain, my commander.

Sip sip. “Computer, status report?” Fuck, I was tired.

“Critical hull breach in compartment 374. Oxygen escaping. Cargo destroyed. Life support systems affected. Total failure expected in 3 hours without intervention.”

Oh ship, you are so fucking dramatic. “Seal breach. Eject compartment.”

“There are crew present in compartment 374. Loss of life will occur.”

Yes, of course it will. Like I will miss those piles of bones.

“Acknowledged. Seal breach. Eject compartment 374.”

“Ejecting.” An electronic beep, drown out beneath the klaxons. “Sealing.” Another beep.

The red lights faded. The sirens died. Sanity returned. Sanity and the absolute deathly silence of the empty ship.

“All systems nominal. Status green.”

I sighed. I shambled back down the empty dark metal corridor, wanting nothing more than to crawl back into bed.

There’s a reason Garfield hates Mondays. And out here in Delta Quadrant, I have to face them all alone.

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