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.

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.

As though he were laying on his couch back home, he floated. His head was tilted slightly back, his eyes unwavering on a white wire hanging low. He stared.

His arms reached out. His fingers wrapped around the wire. His fist closed. It felt small in his palm. He tugged. Then pulled. The lights went out. Silence.

He held onto the detached wire, swaying back and forth, listening to the absence of humming machines. He thought of the Earth and all that he left behind—the house he inherited from his parents, complete with creaky doors and paint-chipped walls. Ice cream dates with his ex-girlfriend Jeanine. He liked mint chip, she went for vanilla. So boring. His comfortable couch. His 9 to 5 working on this damn shuttle. Coffee from the local diner. Always bitter. Food that wasn’t dehydrated. Trees with leaves that fell into his yard. Every year. Loud cars, nosy neighbors, overbearing supervisors— he was not sure there was going to be much to miss.

He glanced down at the wire in his hand, hanging like a dead snake in his palm. He knew where it went. Where it came from. How to fix it.

He let it fall from his grip.

Submerged in darkness, he found his way to the circular window once more. The knot in his stomach unfurled and a wave of calm swam across his nerves. He smiled—a smile he only reserved for himself, mint chip ice cream and nothing more. He knew exactly why he volunteered to come on this mission.

Nose smushed. Eyes unblinking. He looked at Earth.

It looks a lot smaller from this far up.