Writing Prompt-and-Share #35

Prompt-and-Share Happy Hump Day Writers! - We are officially half way through the work week, if you live in the EST timezone that is...
It's Wednesday's First Sentence theme continuing on the Prompt-and-Share. We all know how important the first sentence is to any story, it grabs the reader and pulls them in. We've been taking the first sentence of famous novels and writing our own little stories with them. Today we are going to steal from Douglas Adams The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
Remember to give us at least one setting, character, conflict and Resolution.
In 900 words or less - (let's make a valiant effort to stay under the word limit today) tell us a story that starts with "Far out in the uncharted backwaters of the unfashionable end of the Western Spiral arm of the Galaxy lies a small unregarded yellow sun."
I'm very curious to see where you all take this...

I kinda got a crush on the two characters I created yesterday. So I've renamed them (Bob and Doug could be too easily attributed to the famous duo Bob and Doug Mackenzie) and used them again below

Far out in the uncharted backwaters of the unfashionable end of the Western Spiral arm of the Galaxy lies a small unregarded yellow sun. Almost ninety-three million miles away from the afore mentioned unregarded sun lies an even more insignificant planet. On this insignificant little planet called Earth, lives two patently trivial young busboys in their early twenties: Bruce and Wayne.

In a far more significant Galaxy, for no apparent reason, the Watcher known as Penemue, found fascination with Bruce and Wayne’s mundane lives. Penemue did as his position implied, he watched. At first the two humans irritated him. In their early years, the two young men were responsible for more than a few lumps on his forehead from repeatedly forcing him to smack his skull against the Great Mirror in frustration. Over time though, Penemue became accustomed to their idiocies, and found himself amused by their senseless meanderings… well, most of the time…

But on this specific day, and this specific hour, Penemue was beyond bored from the scene before him. He had risked his freedom, thousands of earth years prior, by bringing knowledge to the humans. Today he despised this prison, the chains that held him to the Great Mirror that aired only one station. At this moment he wanted more than the same routine.

He sat dumbfounded at their lack of adventure. The typical standard scene passed before his eyes. They cleaned dirty dishes form checkered tablecloths. Clouds of steam rose from the silver sinks as they scrubbed away half eaten morsels from porcelain white plates. They stole glimpses at the big heavy clock on the wall waiting for their ten o’clock break. Once break was announced by the heavy hands of time, they would each grab a bag of garbage and a shiny bag of sustenance on their way to the dumpsters in the back parking lot.

Penemue knew what came next. He wished for an accident, a falling meteor, an explosion, anything to break up the monotony of the reruns that had become these boys’ lives. Sadly, nothing of the sort was to happen. His eyes teared with boredom as the day-to-day sequel played on. Wayne would produce the marijuana cigarette, Bruce would light it. They would smoke the long stick in turn, killing brain cells they couldn’t afford to lose and numbing themselves to the mediocrity of their existence. If only he had such a tool.

The busboys would then open their loot-filled crinkly bags. Bruce would open it slowly, crackling the material. Wayne would smash his Dorito bag between both hands causing a loud bang. Penemue always knew what was coming, but would jump at the sound regardless. They would crunch away at the triangular treats repeating the same conversation daily.

“These are so good, dude.” Wayne would say with orange speckles leeched to his teeth.

“I like the jalapeno ones better, man.” Bruce would complain.

“You should get them next time.”

“Yeah I should, man.”

He swore if he were ever released, he would break the mediocrity of Bruce and Wayne’s lives by introducing them to knowledge yet to be understood by their race. Oh yes, he would blow their minds far more than any drug ever had… and then promptly indulge himself in a bag of these Doritos . Upon contemplation, he licked his lips unsure as to which task he would relish in first.

Penemue yawned deeply from boredom as he watched the two dimwits munch away. Suddenly there was a choking sound. He sat on the edge of his seat. This could be it, something to break up the monotony. A death? An epiphany of the afterlife? SOMETHING ??? He dared not dream of things unlikely, but Wayne was not recovering quickly. This was a different choking than what he had witnessed when they smoked the joints. Wayne’s eyes were tearing and his lips were turning blue. Bruce was emphatically thumping on his back. This was it! Penemue was convinced this would be a pivotal moment.

Finally, as quickly as it had come on, the choking stopped. The color returned to Wayne’s lips and he was breathing, though sporadically, and with orange spittle dangling from his chin. Penemue waited, paused in the moment, in hopes that the episode had delivered some enlightenment to the young man. He held his breath as the busboy spoke.

“Wow that was trippy, dude,” was all Wayne had to say about his near-death experience.

Bruce simply nodded.

Penemue sighed in exasperation, shook his head, and sat back at his post. He was left with an overwhelming feeling of desolation. He wanted to weep, scream, tug and tear at his chains. He stood up and paced the few steps his restraints would grant him. He shuffled back and forth and back and forth as he had done countless times before, averting his eyes from the Great Mirror’s screen that he despised.

Consumed by his thoughts and disappointment, he didn’t notice that his encumbrance had slacked. He had taking several steps past his standard pacing path without cognizance. Then it dawned on him. He looked down at his emancipated feet and felt as if his eyes would pop right out of their sockets. A slow maniacal smile edged along his lips as his soul lifted into the light, the recognition and the endless possibilities of freedom.