I close my eyes and let myself imagine impossible things. And what I create are stars, stars, and stars. All of them, shining radiantly beneath a veil of dark. It’s been a long time since any of us truly saw a star, but pictures from the net is all we really need to know what they look like. They all twinkle, like lights on a huge Christmas tree. And yet, it’s so absurd, this entire idea of living in one of those mysterious stars and their planets, just the 15 of us, even if we trained for this our entire lives.
Twelve years ago, the end of the world had been predicted July 17th, 2185, and that doomsday was tomorrow. When the prediction was made, the UN put us under Mission Spesnostra, and under the pressure of knowing all of humanity relies on us. On top of that, our mission was a difficult one. We were to preserve our learnings and achievements, and to protect the humans from going extinct, on a whole new planet. We were destined to be the future founders of planet Kapteyn and all its inhabitants.
A few months ago, the UN let us see Kapteyn through their fancy telescopes. It was going to be our new home, our new Earth. But it kind of scared me. A million things could go wrong with this, no matter how much they guaranteed safety.
I stare at the wood grains on the floor. I get irritated and shake my head. I shouldn’t think this way. The UN’s got everything planned out, down to the smallest detail. We’re going to be fine.
I zone out for a while, thinking about the reason behind all of this. An asteroid. An asteroid, twice as big as the size of our moon, is going to collide with our beloved planet. It made me feel insignificant, that something so lifeless and ignoble like an asteroid had the power to destroy our entire world in one single blow.
I glance at the clock. 8:29. “Damn,” I curse under my breath. Class started in exactly a minute. I was always the one barely making it to class in time, so it was evident that I had a weakness in time management. The evaluation machine told us that, when I was undergoing assessments made to judge whether I was fit for this mission. The machine told us a lot of things, both strengths and weaknesses, of each and every one of us, so that the UN was able to choose the top 15 qualifiers.
I go out in a full sprint, from the dorm to the Classroom. The distance is short, so I’m able to make it into my seat just about 0.3 seconds before the clock strikes 8:30.
The Classroom was literally what it was called: a classroom. It was a large circular classroom, with 15 screens all throughout the walls, one for each of us. Five feet in front of the screens were the desks, circulating the entire room. In the very center of the room, there was a Kapteyn model, and beside it stood Dr. Darson, rigid and strict as always.
Dr. Darson holds up a hand to get our attention, even though he has most of ours already. “Today is the last day we will be meeting here. Tomorrow is takeoff day, and the trip’s going to be a hard one, so you all best be getting yourself ready and well rested. And remember, don't be late,” he adds, looking at me.
I really don’t care, because right now, I’m watching Dr. Darson’s mustache, wiggling up and down as he talks. I know I have to be listening, but my head’s a tangle of completely different thoughts.
That tangle is, obviously, about my family. Even in this kind of situation, two days from takeoff, I still thought of them. They haunt me, and I purposely had stashed away the memories in a dark corner of my mind. But they always came back, emerging whenever, even in the most direst times. The timing was great today, making me lose my focus on the day of the final training.
It was still a sad tangle of thoughts, that always made me shed a few tears. All of them had been taken by the disease a few years ago that also took millions of others. I could still remember looking at their dead bodies through the glass window, covered with red and purple veins. I wasn’t able to see them much before they died, because of my training. Seeing their lifeless bodies, all beaten up by months of suffering, had brought me a sense of guilt and regret.
My parents died before my brother, Jack, did, and back then, I refused to lose the hope of my brother going away too. During the two times I visited him, I sat and stared through the glass doors, talking to him about what it was like in the outside world, and how I couldn’t wait for him to see everything I had been doing. Even though he was unable to respond, I still talked to him like this, because I knew that once my brother lost hope, it would be truly over. Yet in the end, he died, just like millions of others. I guess it was truly over the moment they contracted the disease.
I have no idea when class ended, because suddenly, everyone’s leaving the room. I get up and follow, even though I don’t know where I’m going.
“Lexie,” I nudge a passing girl with flaming red hair and bright blue eyes.
“Hey, Dale,” she replies.
“Do you know where we’re going?” I ask.
“You weren’t paying attention, huh,” she smirks. I blush. “We’re going to the Spesnostra and the other ships. We’re running last minute tests, just to be sure,” Lexie says.
Lexie and I make small talk on the hover taking us to the takeoff stations. I laugh at her jokes and she laughs at mine. All of us are friendly to each other, and there’s no bullying around. They made sure of that when we were evaluated.
“Are you nervous?” Lexie asks me.
“Why would I be. I mean, the world’s totally not ending in two days, right?” I say, my voice laid thick with sarcasm.
Lexie smiles, showing a perfect array of teeth. “Well, I’m definitely nervous. We’re going to be by ourselves there, no parents, no Dr. Darson. But oh gosh, I’m so ready. I mean, I’ve been training my entire life for this!” She says, her brilliant eyes exploding off into a million fireworks of excitement.
“Aren’t you sad at all? We’re never going to be able to see Earth again,” I say.
“I guess…I’m going to miss my family and this place, but…I’ll get over it,” she shrugs and stares down at her feet.
And that’s when it hits me. My family. I have to go see them. There’s no time today or tomorrow to go visit their graves, but I know I have to go.
“Lexie,” I say suddenly, “I need your hat.”
“What? My hat? Why?” she asks, her frowning.
“Lexie, I really, really need to do something today. Please. I need your hat.”
“…Okay,” she says, taking off her beanie and handing it to me, “…but be careful, okay?”
“Thanks so, so much, Lexie. I’ll be back in half an hour. If someone asks me where I am, just say I had to go to the restroom or something, okay?” Lexie nods, and I slip on the beanie. I know I’ll be able to get away easily, because the takeoff base is near a forested area, so there’s trees and bushes to cover my trail. But I slump in my seat, devastated over the fact that I had completely forgotten to say goodbye to my family before I left once and for all.
We ride the rest of the way in silence. When we stop, I immediately walk out in front of the others, make my way around the hover, and duck behind a bush. I pull down the beanie down to my ears, just in case anyone’s able to recognize me. Once the rest of the group is two hundred feet away, I turn around and break into a jog. My feet pound into the grass, and sweat starts to break out on the nape of my neck. I speed along the rim of the forest, trying to crunch time. The cemetery isn’t very far from the forest, so I’m able to make it in ten minutes. I stand by the gate, drenched in sweat and gasping for breath. When I regain my steady breathing, I push the gate open and walk in with the flowers I had picked along the way.
The forest is a beautiful place, with birds singing and sunlight shining. The cemetery is no different. It’s just that the cold, black, iron gates make passers hurry along, willing to leave the cemetery behind.
I pass each gravestone, all marked with names and dates and words of love and remembrance. I wonder if they still have loved ones who remember them and visit. Before long, I stand in front of my family’s graves, next to the white birch tree. I kneel and set down the flowers.
“Mum. Dad. Jack,” I say, touching the cool gray stones. I hadn’t had anything written on their stones except for their names and the dates, because I was never really sure what to write. I still have no idea what to say, but I know I have to do this today. I collect water from the small creek beside the cemetery, because honestly, there’s nothing else to write with. I dip my finger into the water, and I write.
“My mum, who took care of me when times were dark. My world has been a brighter place because you were here,” I say out loud what I write, so they could hear what I’m writing about.
“My dad, who said to me, ‘Live to the fullest, for life is all too short.’  I’ll remember you when I need encouragement.”
“My brother, who fought the hardest out of all of us. Thank you, my forever companion and friend. We’ll meet some day.”
By the time I am done, the tears are freely falling. “Goodbye,” I whisper, and I get up to leave. This was truly the last of the goodbyes I will ever give them. Before I’m out of the gate, I glance back, and I see that the water on the stones are fading.
I wipe my tears. I run hard, all the way back to the base. Just as I’m able to make out the top of the spaceship, I notice the sky. The sun is sinking down the horizon, and the sky is blotched with shades of red, varying from rosy pink to the color of dried blood. It’s not a very pretty sunset, because it looks like the world is being enveloped by a ball of fire. But I love the sunset anyway, because it’s the last sunset I’ll ever see on Earth. And then I notice the grass beneath my feet, and I’m devastated because I now also know that I’ll never be able to touch the same grassy land again. I look at the trees swaying, the leaves trembling, and the birds singing, and I know I’ll miss this place. There will be life living on Kapteyn, but I know for sure that nothing on Kapteyn will ever look the same, or even similar, to what we have on Earth.
At the same time, I’m flipping around inside. This whole thing is so serious and exciting altogether. This mission. We have to succeed.
But I look around again and take in the crooked branches of the trees, the disproportionality of the leaves, and the out-of-tune songs that the birds sing. I finally realize how imperfect our world is. I think to myself, ‘If the Earth we love is so flawed itself, how could we even have a chance of starting a whole new planet?’
And for the first time ever, after all those years of training, I ask myself another question I never bothered to ask before: Am I truly ready for this?