Lights Out
Kathryne McCann Content Warning: hints of depression and suicide
From all the way up, among the stars, far above the faint wisps of cloud, even farther past the ozone layer and into the darkness of space, he stood, watching the Earth slip farther and farther away. With his nose pressed flat against the sole circular window built into the spacecraft, he tried to locate his home state. First he found America, then—his search stopped there. He failed geography in high school. Though his nose began to ache, he remained pressed against the glass. He knew that despite the pit of nerves rocking in the bowl of his stomach and his remote wish for rest, he did not want to miss his final glimpse of home. Nose smushed. Eyes unblinking. That is how he said goodbye to Earth. He was not exactly sure what made him volunteer to test out his company’s new self-operating one-person space station. Sure, he had everything he needed to survive, for a year or two that is, though the trip was only to last three months, and sure, who doesn’t want to see space? It’s space. Not many people get to see the world from thousands of miles up in the sky. Not many at all. Then again, the odds were not looking too great in the pre-trial tests. Then again, does he really want to go back to Earth? In the end, they just needed a body—and that body happened to be his. It looks a lot smaller from this far up.
American Literary Magazine | 76
He figured it would look much more grand, perhaps even spark a tear, maybe two, from his sleep deprived eyes because of its immense size and beauty. Instead, it looked much more like a ball of green and blue playdough mashed together with a hint of white. Maybe he wasn’t looking hard enough. Maybe he was looking too much. He never liked playdough as a kid. Peeling his face off the window, he shifted his gaze to the white walls that surrounded him. Black screens and multicolored pastel buttons lined the box he now called home while wires and tubes weaved their way throughout the shuttle. He built this shuttle, well, along with other engineers, mathematicians, designers and more blank-faced team members. The construction reminded him of Legos. He liked Legos. He pushed off the window, breaking his vigil completely, and began to glide towards the center of the station. Weightless, he flowed with the air around him, feeling the hum of the machines that kept the shuttle afloat fill the empty space. Space. Don’t touch anything. Not even the small buttons. Everything works on its own. Don’t touch anything. Over and over again, he repeated those words to himself, the parting reminder his supervisor left him with. Don’t touch anything.
