The Projectionist
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Smudge sprawled out on the grass in his backyard. The moon was full and yellow and beaming down at him telling him absolutely nothing. The power lines that ran in his backyard cut into it, separating the moon into glowing slices. Anytime now, Smudge thought. He thought about his eyes like the moon and widened them to stare back at the huge yellow circle. Smudge wished he could scare the moon away because he hated it. Yes, anytime now. He waits every night for something to happen that will change the night sky. The night sky is what he deems the largest threat to the world’s safety. He’s a hero, he thinks. Most people find smudge odd, and the only person who he’s ever been open with about his insight is the shrink that his parents made him see a while back. She told him that he was a special kind of narcissist. His shrink also said that he was, ”the largest projectionist of pure terror and irrational thought that she had ever known.” Smudge considered all fear a possibility, and he held no shame in his beliefs. It was late and Smudge went back up to his room and got into bed. Not tonight. Tomorrow. Smudge dreamed of a smooth white spaceship flying through dark canyons.

Smudge woke up and greeted the morning. He didn’t open his shades or the neighbors might see his references. Covering every possible surface except the floor were models of NASA’s Skylab, the first space station ever launched by NASA. Smudge went and sat at his big wooden desk littered with an assortment of paints, brushes, small detail tools, and models. At least fifty models across the surface of the large desk. The some fifty models on Smudge’s desk were only a small fraction of the massive number of Skylab models that Smudge deemed imperfect. All of the imperfect models were set to be deconstructed for use in newer models, or to try and understand the imperfections, which he had trouble even noticing himself.. A calendar was pinned on the inside of the shade covering the picture window that read the year 1973. Pictured on it was an image of the Skylab, drifting in space. An artistic recreation that Smudge had picked up as a sign. He believed everything that caught his eye to be a sign from God, and picked up anything related to Skylab to use as more references.

Smudge tinkered away on his models for hours, deconstructing some, editing others. Poking and prodding them with thin tweezers and the smallest, most intricate paint brushes. There were probably a thousand models throughout the entire house, even the bathroom and kitchen, and he deemed all of them imperfect. He finally checked his watch and went outside. It was finally dark. Pure, blissful darkness. Tonight it will come. Smudge thought about his shrink. She was the only one besides him who knew of what would happen in the night sky. But she hadn’t believed him. He had tried to help her but she thought he was crazy. When he told her that the Skylab was built for the sole purpose of destroying the world she had laughed. But he remained calm and aware as the only one who knew what would happen. The destruction of the moon and the final release from normalcy and the embracing of a new world brought by the lack of an orbiting moon. It was going to be grand, but he was the only one who knew where and when to look. Any minute now.

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