A Taste of Space

“Where do you want to go?”

The question haunts me. It’s been scratching at my neck for the past eighteen billion kilometers. I just pointed the Cherrybomb in a direction and hit forward. No heading. No destination. Just straight forward (relatively forward, of course). I’m surprised at how much space there is in space. Never collided with anything. No last minute adjustments.

Just straight.

“Where do you want to go?”

Where don’t I want to go? Back there, obviously. I’ve been trying to get away for years and I finally got my freedom. I wasn’t a slave or anything. I just wasn’t in a place I was supposed to be, where I wanted to be. Obligations and honor moored me to the Lookout. It was just a job for an uneducated Martian kid that got a taste of space. I was promised the stars and I got them served on a plate, but the blood and misery left a bitter bite. I saw the wonders of the System through a lens of the military. With those specs on, everything looks bloodstained.

“Where do you want to go?”

Oblivion. I want an exotic death. Something exciting! Be the first to be ripped apart by a black hole. Or vaporized by a gamma ray burst. Or burned away by a supernova. All that is left in the System for me is mundanity. Shot by a PULSAR over a girl. Suffocated with Ether magic because I didn’t bow to a Master. Sliced and diced by the Hantu Bulan. Boring. Old hat. And, now that I’m out here, there is literally nothing! Just more space. The closest phenomena are lightyears away; I’d be dead of old age by the time I got there.

“Where do you want to go,” the ship asks again with a hint of mischief. She was cool with coming out to the Heliopause at first. As far as we know, we’re two amongst a handful that have gotten to experience the end of the system. But if you see one Heliopause, you’ve seen them all, I guess. She’s bored. With her boredom comes impatience. And with her impatience comes trouble.

“Where do you want to go?”

I think, but not too long. Then, I finally say, “Anywhere.”


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