Post by Lucia Basile on Sept 19, 2016 20:29:52 GMT -5
Words: a number of them | TAGS: @graham |
A disease common to many that travel away from home manifests in the strangest of ways, from sudden and inexplicable pain in the chest to a sour bile in the back of the throat to wistfully watching the horizon-- or in Lucia's case, the sky-- waiting, waiting, for the day that they could return home. This disease had afflicted Lucia ever since she'd been separated from her family at the boarding platforms, dragged by unseen hands in the wrong direction-- packed away in a cryo-chamber with barely more instruction than, "Relax, cross your arms over your chest, when you wake up...you'll be on Petra Exterior! Good luck!"
When she'd awoken, she'd been just as disoriented as the rest-- though one thing stood out in her cryo-addled brain, something that honed her thoughts until she was speaking coherently (or as coherently as she could) in all the languages she knew, asking "Have you seen my father? My mother? My family?"
It had been several weeks and every day, like clockwork, she'd return to the Drop Point. She'd barely noticed the toll this daily trek had taken on her body, let alone the discomfort of waiting in the boiling heat until exhaustion kicked in. Had she been on Earth, with a 24-hour day cycle, things might've been different.
As it was, her brain didn't tell her when to sleep until she was on the brink of collapse-- because the sun was always up, or it was always down. The nights were the worst part-- she could handle herself in the broad daylight. But when Petra Exterior's face would slip away from the sun, when the temperatures dropped, she'd shiver in her little corner of the colony. It was much too dark, much too quiet, and it left her far too much time to think.
What if their ship had failed? What if it had sailed off to some other part of the universe? What if they hadn't been packed away in the cryo chamber properly? What if her little brother lost his ticket? Could they really trust the calculations that landed them here? Earth's last days had been a mad rush for survival, she suspected that more than a few mistakes riddled humanity's great exodus.
Presently, the sun was shining brightly above her head, making the sand radiate waves of suffocating heat. Her boots had long ago been ruined by the sand and the wear and tear of unpaved paths, but they held true, and they did their job well enough. Sweat beaded at her hairline, rolling down her temples as she looked up at the sky-- dark eyes almost glazed with concentration-- as if she were willing something to appear.
Wind broke the stagnancy of the air for a moment, carrying the faint smell of smoke, and it ran cool fingers through her hair before going along its merry way. This simple brush was enough to crack whatever composure she'd been holding as soon as she'd arrived at the Drop Point, maybe even as soon as she'd arrived on Petra Exterior.
Tear prickled her eyelids, and she sniffled-- refusing to look anywhere but the sky, because at this point, she knew if she were to lower her gaze, that the tears would roll down her cheeks.
When she'd awoken, she'd been just as disoriented as the rest-- though one thing stood out in her cryo-addled brain, something that honed her thoughts until she was speaking coherently (or as coherently as she could) in all the languages she knew, asking "Have you seen my father? My mother? My family?"
It had been several weeks and every day, like clockwork, she'd return to the Drop Point. She'd barely noticed the toll this daily trek had taken on her body, let alone the discomfort of waiting in the boiling heat until exhaustion kicked in. Had she been on Earth, with a 24-hour day cycle, things might've been different.
As it was, her brain didn't tell her when to sleep until she was on the brink of collapse-- because the sun was always up, or it was always down. The nights were the worst part-- she could handle herself in the broad daylight. But when Petra Exterior's face would slip away from the sun, when the temperatures dropped, she'd shiver in her little corner of the colony. It was much too dark, much too quiet, and it left her far too much time to think.
What if their ship had failed? What if it had sailed off to some other part of the universe? What if they hadn't been packed away in the cryo chamber properly? What if her little brother lost his ticket? Could they really trust the calculations that landed them here? Earth's last days had been a mad rush for survival, she suspected that more than a few mistakes riddled humanity's great exodus.
Presently, the sun was shining brightly above her head, making the sand radiate waves of suffocating heat. Her boots had long ago been ruined by the sand and the wear and tear of unpaved paths, but they held true, and they did their job well enough. Sweat beaded at her hairline, rolling down her temples as she looked up at the sky-- dark eyes almost glazed with concentration-- as if she were willing something to appear.
Wind broke the stagnancy of the air for a moment, carrying the faint smell of smoke, and it ran cool fingers through her hair before going along its merry way. This simple brush was enough to crack whatever composure she'd been holding as soon as she'd arrived at the Drop Point, maybe even as soon as she'd arrived on Petra Exterior.
Tear prickled her eyelids, and she sniffled-- refusing to look anywhere but the sky, because at this point, she knew if she were to lower her gaze, that the tears would roll down her cheeks.
NOTES: Someone's homesick.
＃ENY ADOXOGRAPHY
