Standing six feet three inches of rippling muscles tall I make a ridiculous figure cramped into the webbing of our silver pluton alloy framed sling shot vehicle with my long blond hair falling over my shoulders and tangling with the meshing. Outy takes up no room at all because he is only my inner self.
Both Outy and I have steely Blue eyes, which in my case are darting furiously around looking for a safe haven to land at.
If my father Johnny Oops Senior were here now he would appreciate what I’m doing. He always wanted to travel between worlds, but in his case all his efforts were virtual. Mine are real—the product of the scientific genius of my mind. I see Outy is crawling back inside my thoughts. This project is too much for him. Fine with me, I don’t need an inner self. I’m near perfection on my own.
How do I get myself into these messes? I’m always in such a hurry. Why can’t I slow down? What am I out to prove, that I’m the greatest rocket scientist in the world? That I can build a spaceship that can go faster than any other? Sounds about right.
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