Corn Eastshaw is absolutely terrified.

Corn has a brief encounter with God. Or, maybe he was panicking as he fell to what he believed would be his grave and his psyche decided to just run with it.

Corn had always been a simple man, being born and raised on Corn. (The planet, 13th Fold, agriculture focused.) When the last of his (Godforsaken!) family died off - taking the dog with them - he'd managed to scrounge up enough dosh to buy himself a charming Bottom-Of-The-Line Harbringer. He named her 'The 'Verse', as you do - for She was his universe. His omega and his alpha - a massive pile of junk that broke down after every other galactic jump. You see, it was the other that counted. Now, he worked as a courier, shipping largely useless materials across stretches of the galaxy, himself and 'Scandalous Senile Seawillies' magazine as his only companion. 

"I love my 'Verse" thought Corn Eastshaw. 

"Well, we're passing through the Sixth Fold to the one after that, which is very exciting!" Corn remarked to absolutely no one in particular, unless the mold that had taken over his discarded coffee cup had somehow developed sentience. Regardless, this was exciting - at least to Corn. He'd never shipped to this fold before. Even more exciting to the human parsnip was that it was largely uncharted, though the reason for this oversight would be how immensely boring this particular Fold was. It was largely accepted that, despite it's rich resources, the entire strip of Space would be ignored for it's sole resident was the Frab. Monstrous creatures reaching 5 times the size of Corn's 'Verse, but regarded as mostly harmless; fighting back only when aggravated (or made fun of). Their sole diet however, was paint on spaceships and carpets. Fortunately for Corn, he couldn't afford either. 

The cockpit of The 'Verse was indeed very lonely. Now that he thought of it, it was painfully lonely. Even though such quiet gave him some semblance of peace, he realized that the only thing he could consider company was his aforementioned mold-friend. In this brainwave, he named the mold-friend Tim, and decided that Tim was his new friend. Tim was a bachelor with wavy blonde hair and a give-'em-hell personality, who could always talk his way out of trouble, charming everyone he met. He would always have a laser pistol, (Deadeye) and insisted on wearing a poncho. Though, outside Corn's largely self-indulgent fantasies, Tim is indeed an off-colour mold at the bottom of a 8-12 coffee cup. 

And now, Tim was all he had for company at the moment. Just like every moment before that after he had set off to deliver this package, with a short interlude where he'd muster up the courage to talk to the cashier to buy peanuts. Now that he thought of it, how long HAD Tim been here? Right next to his nose, a partner to whom he could wallow in philosophical debate! If he was lucky, maybe he'd actually come to a conclusion! Weeks of potential conversation! Weeks, I tell you! And so, Corn began to babble about his "Neechee" and "sockcrater", as he was a largely self-educated man. Tim ignored him.

The UPS (Universal Positioning System) ((Don't sue me you're as cool as mailmen get)) (((Actually nah you flagrantly scamming b******s get out of my house))) interrupted Corn right as he was about to finally discover the meaning of life, as it insisted on blinking and chirping wildly, a series of red lights blinding poor Corn as they whirled around his retinas. 

"What is it, boy?" Asked Corn, further perpetuating his habit of talking to his AI as though they were lovable family pets. Corn was met with a lady's pleasant and soothing voice stuttering out "Uhn-Cha-Rrr-Ted. Loh-Cay-Shun." followed by a single, nearly mournful, yellow blink as the slim, grey device shut itself off -which was a bad thing-. Corn shared a look of solidarity with Tim. 

Tim thought, in that moment, that perhaps life at the bottom of a 3 week old coffee cup was perhaps a life worth living. He could see the world! Maybe life did indeed have a reason, as the lanky man next to him had insisted to himself. Maybe he and this man were destined to be together... If only he could tell Lanky how he felt! This burning passion for life! The flame in his mitochondria! 

In that moment, Tim spontaneously combust. 

As the sudden anxiety and disaster pressed upon Corn, all his mind could muster was a measly "S**t.". Unfortunately, he was definitely not a person who thrives under pressure. He recalled a time, back on Corn, when his 4th rank teacher had demanded an answer to whether modified fertilizer had been the appropriate response to a farming quandary one of the citizens of Corn faced. Not prepared to deliver his 5 page monologue on the importance of Genetic Modification of such items, he stood up, said "S**t." In a tone very similar to his current, and then continued to stand for 30 minutes, praying that an eagle would, in one mighty swoop, take him away in its massive talons and eat him, so he would never again have to deal with, well, this. Corn felt the same cool sweat run down his back as that day, 24 years ago. 

In his efforts to save his beloved (gorgeous) Tim with his largely useless fire extinguisher, he had managed to cover the entire 'Verse's console with foam, short electronics, smash a monitor, and had screamed so many obscenities in his flailing that if you showed a nun the manuscript of his dialogue, she would burst into flames. Beneath these inspired actions was yet another tragedy about to smack Corn on the back of the head and knock his contact lenses out - and that was that The 'Verse was plummeting through the Universe, about to crash upon an unknown planet. Corn, naturally, was oblivious to this, swatting at his crispy and foamy friend with a previously discarded napkin. 

Realizing that the situation was hopeless, he reflected upon his life, his choices: Tim had just set ablaze, the UPS alongside most of his equipment was now a foaming mess, he had decided to ship a bizarre amount of carrots to Copernicon 2, he was in an uncharted part of The Fold, his back hurt, he burnt his napkin, he regret what he had said to his Father before he kicked the harvest basket... 

"If this day intends to get any worse" Said Corn as he looked upon the embers of what had been his pride and joy. "I will refuse to take it square in the jaw, and will instead retreat to under my bunk with a bottle of Ol' Gregor's worst vintage." He proclaimed, stretching his back with two hands on his hips.

" C O L L I S I O N  D E T E C T E D" 

Alarms blared, all hands on deck, though his were gnarled and useless upon the fine buttons of what remained of the ship's keyboard. Corn attempted to program the escape pod as the hull shook and gave way. Corn attempted to save himself, though that was met with a jolt, then a throw, then a heave, then carrots flying everywhere, then a hurl, then himself hurling, and suddenly, everything getting very, very hot. As Corn's world burnt around him, his mind was blank. His blurred eyes managed to focus through cracked glass upon a dusty landscape approaching him very, very quickly. Though his mind refused to form any coherent thoughts, primal emotions still flew through him, fear, cowardice, anger, hopelessness, pain, regret. As his world faded to black, the 'Verse hit the sand.

Author's Note

I wrote this in class (Summer school, yo) and have been playing around with the concept for a while. Anyway, please leave tips and messages! I'm an aspiring youngster with a bad sense of humour and continuity. (Who signed up today! Woo!)