‘The Trippy Trip to Triton’ by Angelique Fawns

For Life

From Pulp Literature Issue 47, embark on an unexpected journey with ‘The Trippy Trip to Triton’ by Angelique Fawns. Find an excerpt of this story here, then be sure to read the rest in Issue 47, Summer 2025.

The Trippy Trip to Triton

by Angelique Fawns

Angela couldn’t keep her eyes off the box-shaped bulge in the back pocket of Liam’s designer jeans. His magnetic Radus gravity boots were kicking up sidewalk dust, he was walking so quickly. Her stomach was doing somersaults as she rubbed her sweaty palms on her thrift store skirt. Was he finally going to ask her?

He looked over his shoulder and gave her a toothy grin. “Babe, you’re gonna love this! It’s the trip of a lifetime.”

Perspiration trickled down her arms, more from nerves than the hot Texas weather. Her feet were sore in her own gravity boots, a gift from Liam. The smell of jet fuel and the heavy perfume of the flowering magnolia trees nauseated her.

Her head still throbbed from their private party last night. Molly and mojitos. In her neighbourhood, it was easy to find drugs. That was how she’d attracted the great Liam Dawkin in the first place. Short skirts and street narcotics.

“I don’t know …” She trailed off.

He gestured expansively at the looming glass entrance of the Dawkin Houston Centre of Space Science. “There are benefits to being a Dawkin! This is the first so-called tourist flight to Triton ever. It’s just you and me, hot stuff.”

She wrinkled her nose in a way she knew he found adorable. “How on Earth did you get a private flight?”

He shrugged, his broad shoulders pulling his golf shirt tight. “When your family funds the whole dang program …”

She tuned him out. Liam had probably eaten a custom omelette created by his family’s private chef before he picked her up. She’d had stale cereal. Not that she’d been able to choke down much breakfast. Her tongue was a sand dune, and panic dusted her gut.

“I’ve never even been on a plane.” She hated the whiny tone creeping into her voice. “I don’t like heights.”

He winked at her and rubbed under his nose. “There’s nothing better than getting high!” His nostrils were red at the edges.

She bit her bottom lip. “It’s just that my family couldn’t even afford trips to the shore—”

He interrupted her with a wave of his hand, his champion football ring glinting. “Those days are over. One day you’ll be Mrs Dawkin, and we’ll take one of our private jets to any beach on or off this world!”

She blushed. It was time to put on her big-girl panties and conquer her fear of flying. If that was an engagement ring in his pocket, not only would her future be set, but her mom could stop working three jobs.

Bile clawed up her throat like a cat on fire. She gulped it down, wishing she’d thought to pack antacid. But Liam had told her to pack nothing—they’d buy everything at the Triton bio-habitat. She tried to let his enthusiasm infect her, but fright was a strong vaccine against fun.

Find the full story in Pulp Literature Issue 47, Summer 2025

Angelique Fawns is a journalist and speculative fiction writer. She began her career writing articles about naked cave dwellers in Tenerife, Canary Islands. After selling her first story to EQMM, she fell in love with weird fiction, which is actually stranger than non-fiction. She has had over a hundred stories published. Find some in Mystery Tribune, Amazing Stories, and Space & Time. You can find her lurking @angeliquefawns on X, blogging about upcoming calls at angeliquemfawns.substack.com, or gazing into the abyss, hoping it stares back at her.