Every day is the same. I rip open a pouch of freeze dried goodness and stare out the window. Darkness. Stars. Just another day on my ship.
I float across the room to take a look at my crew neatly tucked in their pods, deep in cryo-sleep. I fold myself into a sitting position, and stare at them.
They’ll sleep for three years while we travel. I’ll keep watch, keep ship… study my own sanity while we fly.
I’m especially watching this one kid… it’s his first flight. How he got picked for something like this, I’ll never know. Maybe ‘cause he’s bright. Genius, they say. Might even be a captain someday, even have my job if I lose my mind on this flight.
When I asked why he signed up for this planet colonization project, he said this was the future. Said he had nothin’ to lose. Wanted to make history.
And I remembered when I was a kid, fascinated and thrilled like that. I went to this space camp where they strapped me to the insides of spinning wheels. I tumbled and twisted and tried not to throw up. I built a rocket and shot it, watched it disappear into the clouds, thinking “That’ll be me someday.”
Ready for adventure. Ready to leave the planet. See if there’s anything better out there.
I force down another bite.
Truth is, I miss my family, my friends.
I miss gravity.
They don’t prepare you for that in space camp.
4 responses to “Untitled by Jen Rose”
Very human take on the prompt. Nice.
beautiful and melancholic: the downside of adventure.
poignant. love the use of the sleeping kid as foil to her own yearnings and misgivings. peace…
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