Red Rocket Ship

There was a man dressed in a flannel and blue jeans bending over a table in a woodshed. His hands were rough and his focus was unyielding. Through winters and summers he was working. Sweat dripping from his forehead in the heat, a wood stove fire burning in the colder months. Most days he would be so focused he would forget to eat. Taking apart, cleaning, reassembling a red rocket ship on his table. He had built this rocket ship from the ground up and had spent many years fine tuning it. The rocket ship laid there upon his table reliant upon the knowledge of its designer. The rocket would not dare try to fly without the go ahead from the man, but she knew deep in her heart that the stars would be her destiny. Little did she know, the stars were lonely themselves and longing to be visited by a rocket ship as bright and audacious as she.

The thing about rocket ships is that the surface must be indestructible by the elements. It must be tough, and must be able to cut through the atmosphere. It must be heat resistant. It must be able to withstand the force created by its own speed. Its inner workings must protected and perfected. Its thrust must be significantly stronger than the gravity pulling it back down to earth.

Day and night she awaits her time and willingly lays herself open to his hand. Not once does she complain, for the attention from her maker is far more fulfilling than her quest to the stars could ever be. Still she knows the stars will be there tomorrow, and for many moons thereafter. After all, time is just a mortal construct and she just a rocket ship.