Oblivion

This short story was submitted as part of Catalyst’s 2020 Writing Contest. To view more submissions from the Writing Contest, please visit utcatalyst.org/writing-contest.

Photo Credit: Rakicevic Nenad

Courtesy of Pexels

The constellations danced to the rhythm of a delightful waltz; every movement dramatic, poetic, and tender all at once. Saturn wept quietly for a long-lost love. Engraved on the planet’s rings were secrets once shared with Jupiter’s moons.

The energy of the universe was a vibrant hum to Eva. She had known all along that life had run its course. Things were coming to an end, and she was the last one standing. She had always imagined that she would become old and worn and sick. She had imagined children at her bedside, holding her hand as she dozed off into a deep, deep sleep. Instead, Eva was here, tethered to a wall on a spacecraft with no one else in sight. 

When the scientists had called for volunteers for the expedition, Eva had not hesitated to volunteer. She had known from the beginning that there was a possibility of no return; it did not bother her. Humanity had reached a critical point, and only an extraordinary breakthrough could provide any hope of relieving Earth from its pain. The only way forward was to send some brave souls into the unknown, searching for light in the darkness.

In the comfort of her mind, she was back on Earth, on that last day before she had left. She had kissed her mother’s forehead softly as they both held back their tears. Before boarding the spacecraft, Eva had turned around one last time to see her mother. Eva’s lips had curled into a broken smile.

Now she stared out the tiny window of the spacecraft. With no notion of time, her solitude seemed eternal. From afar she could see the planet she had once called home.  What had Earth looked like for all of the astronauts before her? All she could see was barren land, a cold and empty sphere. The sight made her heart burn with yearning for the past. She longed to walk once more on the gravel and hear the tiny pebbles move beneath her feet. She dreamed about holding fistfuls of sand and letting the grains sift through her fingers. She tried to remember what it felt like to be wrapped in a warm embrace. She laughed, wistfully; her past worries seemed trivial now. She sighed heavily and outstretched her arm, waving a final goodbye from her tiny window. 

In an unexpected burst, Eva felt bitter cold creep into her bones. Her chest felt tight, like a balloon about to rupture, and it became harder to breathe. Her throat felt dry, pleading for water. Space became filled with tiny dots of all colors, jumping up and down as her mind and body struggled against the inevitable. And suddenly, it was as if she was no longer there. She could feel dew covering blades of grass on a fresh morning. Children’s laughter rang in her ears, each voice joining the cacophony as the sounds grew into harsh, haunting echoes. Amid the chaos, she remained calm.

“Easy, there,” she thought to herself. As she took off her helmet, she tried one last time to recall the faces of the ones she loved, but they had already started to fade from memory. In the background, a soft melody began to play as her eyelids grew heavier and heavier. She tried to extend her arms one last time, like someone trying to reach for the stars, but Eva was already among them. Smothered by a blanket of black, Eva exhaled her last breath. And finally, somewhere in the oblivion… 

“Welcome home. We’ve been waiting for you.”