Looking Up For Home

How am I meant to sleep? These sheets are so warm, this bed so soft, the pillow so smooth…I was never meant to be here. I should be curled under a covering of space dust in seasonless bliss.

I threw back the covers and almost fell out of bed. I padded across the carpet, which snagged at my feet, and quietly, so as not to wake the others sleeping in my block of flats, I opened the door, heading barefoot down the stairs. Out the back door, into a back alley populated by stinking bins, and into the main street.

This late the place was deserted, and I leaned against the wall. I almost took a deep lungful of air, but stopped myself in time. The inner city is no place to enjoy breathing.

I had hoped being outside in the open air, with the night sky above me and solitude caressing my limbs, which make me feel better.

But it only deepened my depression.

Above me the night was starless, soot-black, broken only be an aeroplane’s wing lights. What did I expect? Humans pump light into the sky; all-night shops, late-night clubs, monuments to long-dead causes, illuminated by lights not even invented when the revered lumps of stone were first chiselled. Light, light, always light, erasing the stars…

The streetlight to my right flickered, and I willed it to go out. But it stayed, spewing piss-yellow light that no human would ever see. A waste. Of stars and electricity.

This city, this country, this planet…I hate it. All of it. I should never have come here, never agreed to this insane mission. “Gather information for possible contact” – contact is a waste of resources. What has this imperfect sphere of toxin-infested rock got to offer us?

I want to go to sleep and never wake up.

Not an option.

May as well go back to bed.

As I turned back to the alley the streetlight flickered again, went out, and I was plunged into darkness – true, proper darkness such as I hadn’t experienced in months. Filled with irrational hope, I glanced upwards.

One star…

Seized by an urgent, desperate desire, I dashed upstairs and snatched my car keys, slamming the door behind me – no respect for my fellow sleepers this time; in fact I’m sure I heard one wake.

But there was no time to apologise. I raced back outside, the front door this time, and flung my car door open, throwing myself into the driver’s seat.

Within the minute I was speeding along the deserted roads.

Cars. That’s another thing I hate. They stink, they stink up this whole planet. I can’t breathe for the things, clogging my airways, choking me on my own breath. But I won’t deny that, in these too-big cities, they’re useful.

I drove for hours; so long I was afraid that I’d miss the night. So afraid that I slammed my foot to the floor, so fast that a speed camera flashed me on my way past. Useless bit of junk; no one here to kill.

Once I was out of the city I picked small roads, dirt tracks, heading deep into the country, until the smear of tarmac petered out on a small hill.

Up above, for the first time in eons, the Milky Way glittered.

I dropped my head onto the steering wheel and laughed. Hysterical laughter brought on by pure relief. Not alone; there, right there, my home star. And orbiting it, invisible but there, my family, my birthplace, my planet, my home. So many names, and all of them, just the name, precious as the greatest diamond from this terrible place.

I snaked a hand out and opened the door, tumbling onto the grass.

It felt wonderful; cool and green and living. If I sat up I could see the city spread out below me, glittering like the stars it hid; there is some irony there.

But if I fell back I could see my home, nestled in the curve of our shared galaxy. I could breathe here, far away from the city.

I stretched my arms up and framed my home in my fingers. One day I’m coming back. Anytime you call I’ll come, run far, far away from this hated planet.

But for now I’ll enjoy the feel of the grass and the sight of you…