microfiction

Cocoon

My gaze drifts upward through the skin-like membrane of my Cocoon pod. Stars illuminate the night sky, thankfully, due to my geographical distance away from the technosphere’s pollution. Spinning a holographically augmented dial on my wrist, I tone down the blue light spectrum filter to allow my eyes to prepare for sleep. Feet propped on a smooth off-white table, cut and sanded from a pure mycelium block, I sip on a dark green sleep potion out of a sea glass mug. A deep and subtle hum pulses throughout the Cocoon cavity indicating another cycle intake of salt water for Osmotic energy production and storage. “Another successful day”, my partner remarks. “Yeah, ‘xcept for the fact that we lost our first package to Davy Jones”, I reply with a mechanical rasp. “Mistakes happen”, she replies, “let it go”. “Yeah you’re probably right”, I say as I stand up. I make final checks on the pod’s data panel before the potion takes effect, then fall into a deep sleep dreaming of moths.