Ahh, the life of a first-term university freshman!

You sit at your desk staring at scribbles and scrawls running over the blue stripes of college-rule notebook paper, your gaze shifting to an open textbook - "Origins of the Universe," chapter 3. Kicking back on your wheeled desk chair, you look about your lair: A small studio apartment cramped with what few bits of furniture you could fit between the walls. Crumpled, empty bags from "Burger Bar" and the like are strewn across counter- and table-tops amongst matching soda cups, wadded napkins and dented pop cans. Several shirts, pairs of jeans and mate-less socks lay cast haphazardly on the stained, should-be tan-hued carpet.

Your brain whirs and blurs with half-sensical words of cosmic significance and figures of stellar consequence, so you scoot back and over to a card table that serves as feeding and catch-all station, eyes settling upon the latest care package from ‘dear ol' Mum;” box open but set aside, un-inspected, as you had earlier determined to crack down and absorb yourself in your studies before rewarding yourself with mother’s love offering.

Now, you have resumed your attention to the brown-papered box wrapped like a mummy fortified with a nearly indestructible hide of fiber-tape, except for the partial ruin from an earlier assault of persistent hacking, slashing and stabbing with every semi-sharp object available – butter knife, fork, ballpoint pen (now broken), etc. You peer in and remove the contents piece by piece, appraising each levelly with a mixture of sentiment for Mum's loving doting and annoyance at her ideas of "what my baby needs while out in the big, ominous world beyond."

You extract several wads of newspaper, beyond which you retrieve the precious, carefully chosen treasures one by one... an envelope with card - "I'm so proud of you, Son"... a knitted, gaudy, striped scarf (grimace)... toothpaste and brush (smirk)... bottle of "Electric Blue" aftershave (sniff and roll eyes)... a pack of chocolate bars (now we're getting somewhere!) ...

... and a battered old cigar box with a note on it reading, "I think Grandpa would have wanted you to have this. Love, Mum" You settle the smaller box into your lap, looking over its fading artwork depicting Aztec pyramids and lift the lid to see what could possibly be in such a container.

The dim light falls across the interior revealing a collection of oddities from a bygone epoch:
›› An old black and white photo of depicting a goofy figure that looks like a cross between an astronaut and cartoon superhero, autographed “Because Space isn’t Safe! ~Corporal Cosmic!!!”
›› A hokey, dented and scratched tin and plastic toy ray gun festooned with stars and “Corporal Cosmic - TSF” emblazoned on the handle
›› A large, hefty, silver and brass, coin-like medallion framed in a ring of brass, a brass image of an old-fashioned rocketship launching with a globe/Earth backdrop, the words “Terran Space Force” encircling the image
›› ...and at the bottom, a dog-eared comic book (Wow! Only 10 cents cover price?) – “CORPORAL COSMIC and the Terran Space Force!” (First Edition, too!).

Toying with the pistol and few “take aim and shoots” at various apartment items, almost subconsciously letting out silly "raygun zap" noises, you smile and set the gun back into the box, remove the curious, palm-sized medallion and turn it around to reveal words etched on the backside: "Property of the Terran Space Force. If found, return to …"

You grin, wondering at Grandfather’s interest in these funny items. Setting the medallion to your knee, you gingerly lift out the old comic.

“Never heard of Corporal Cosmic,” you mutter as you eye the comic’s cover and contemplate its possible value. May be interesting to read later, when not so tired… and the comic lays to rest back in the box.

Setting the box aside and seeing that it is very late, you reach for the nearby TV remote and "click, click…" turn on the set, but only static shows on the screen as you aim your controller.

You get up, taking the medallion from your knee, and try to change channels manually, unsuccessfully... then set the medallion atop the set with a shrug, and fall back into your “comfy chair” to watch the hissing "snow show' as the speaker blares and the screen flickers and pulses its garble.... then flashes, and clears to a black and white image – an ancient commercial promoting the lost television series of the 1950s, “CORPORAL COSMIC and the Terran Space Force!”

Your eyes are heavy, vision fading as you wonder at the coincidences of the toy collection and the commercial… movement on the chest of drawers, next to the television set… something rising from the medallion, a wire? An antenna?

And sleep overcomes…

------------------
For more information, read and enjoy the blog: http://www.wreckamovie.com/productions/corporalcosmicandthetsf2/blog/1029