Art by Mike Webb
The Last Day
Kelly hid under Isaac’s bed, waiting for the footsteps to recede — to leave her alone. She wanted everything to calm down and go back to normal, to how it all was before: back when Amy hugged her and told her to stop worrying so much, and when Isaac helped her with math problems and they talked about books together. Everything was so peaceful then.
Instead, the footsteps grew threateningly louder and louder, drawing closer and closer. The lights were off in the room; she had pulled the blanket down to hide herself, and was unable to see anything other than its darkened pattern.
She covered her face, and could feel the warm stickiness of blood on her hands. Was it Amy’s blood, or Isaac’s? Maybe both, mixed together. For some reason she did not cry out of sadness or fear; her eyes watered, but it was from pain. She had a cramp in the side of her stomach. She sniffled, but it was because the temperature had been changed; the room was a lot colder than the rest of the station. For some reason she thought about penguins.
In her head, Kelly composed a letter:
Dear me of one year ago,
Space is not what it’s cracked up to be.
Almira
Canadian scientists randomly plucked four healthy young people from their lives, sealed them in a rocket, and shot them into outer space. Specifically, they were sent to the artificial satellite orbiting the moon in isolation, the space station Almira, furnished with the minimal comforts of a temporary residence. This was an experiment to test the psychological and physiological changes in unprepared and inexperienced humans, in the event of an immediate evacuation of Earth; however, all four of the subjects participated willingly and were paid generous sums of money. Obviously, this did not support any data involving panic. Subtle changes had to be made.
Almira was sizeable enough for its four occupants, though not as large as they had expected: nothing like the Enterprise on Star Trek, to the dismay of Kelly Chrysanthemum, who, at the age of fifteen, was the station’s youngest resident. Neither was the station as large and as comfortable as a house. Still, they made do. Sebastian ‘Seb’ Cyanide, the oldest at twenty years of age, took a liking to its metallic sheen and closed quarters, the blue and yellow lights, and its artificial intelligence that preserved their lives. Amy Kadmon, seventeen, enjoyed the view, as well as being 405,500 kilometres away from both her own problems and those of Earth. Isaac King, nineteen, wondered why the scientists decided to simulate evacuation drills for an entire planet.
The station housed two living quarters, situated opposite each other along the main hall: Isaac and Sebastian shared the left, while Amy and Kelly shared the right.
None of the four had met each other previously, and were under contract to live together for the duration of a year. The situation was joked about as being an exclusive Real World for the scientists’ pleasure; the subjects were even paid like movie stars.
And all they had to do was live in outer space.
Isaac King
The four of them tended to keep to themselves. Isaac supposed they were either all too polite or too afraid to initiate social contact with strangers; he was not sure of which category he fell into. If anything, he supposed he simply did not care. In the unlikelihood that he became close friends with one of the other three, then eventually, at the end of the year, they would have to go their separate paths, never to see each other again. Such emotional commitment was thus rendered impractical and, above all, hurtful — like when a pet dies.
Isaac had had three different pets at three different times in his childhood: a cat, a bird, and a dog. The cat had swiped at him as an infant, and had to be put down. No lesson was learned by the cat. When he was seven, Isaac had climbed a chair and opened the bird’s cage, setting it free. He had wondered if its inability to return was a testament to its preference of freedom. The dog was hit by a car, and Isaac had sat by its twitching, bleeding body, trying to console the pathetic creature. When the dog died, no lesson was learned by it. Only Isaac had ever learned the lessons.
From these experiences, he had developed an apathetic affectation; he no longer set himself up for disappointments.
After being led aboard Almira by the rocket crew, who gave them a personal tour before returning to Earth, Isaac unpacked the few possessions that he was allowed to bring. All clothing and toiletries were supplied by the station; his personal items consisted of no more than a few books and compact discs. He sat on the blue diamond-patterned blanket covering his bed, and looked over each of his belongings before shelving them in the small bedside dresser.
A strand of blonde hair fell over an eye, and he pushed it up as Sebastian Cyanide entered the room.
Sebastian Cyanide
The place was more than he had expected, but he had only expected a glorified box, unfit for the breathing. Before its renovation, Almira had served as a telescope, frozen in its duty of studying every inch of the moon’s surface. Now it was his home, and he was the watchful eye.
Sebastian dropped his duffle bag on the bed, opposite of Isaac’s, where he would sleep and dream for a year. Isaac had scruffy blonde hair, but seemed intelligent enough; Sebastian doubted that he would cause any trouble.
In a sign of good faith, Sebastian was the first to offer contact with an outstretched hand. “I’m Sebastian. Call me Seb.”
Isaac took his hand and shook it. “Isaac.”
“Well, now that we have that little pleasantry out of the way, I was wondering something.”
“Yes?”
“What exactly is your position here?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t think we had actual jobs.”
“Hm, sure we do. Maybe you’re male number one. Or number two, perhaps? Protagonist? Antagonist?”
“Just one of four, I think.”
“I like that. It’s good that you can think, it shows you use your brain for more than reenacting scenes of reproduction.”
“Nobody thinks about sex all the time.”
Sebastian unzipped his duffle bag and pulled out a copy of Hustler, the magazine’s pages crinkling in his hands. He dropped it onto Isaac’s lap.
“If you ever want to prove me wrong.”
Amy Kadmon
In a recurring dream that she had experienced since early childhood, Amy was led by a boy with a darkened face to a yellow door. All of the other doors were white and plain, with smooth surfaces; the yellow door was engraved with a pattern of squares, each one exactly alike. When she reached the yellow door, the boy with the darkened face would leave, and become completely forgotten. Amy would then place her hand on the yellow wooden doorknob, turn it without hesitation, and open it to reveal her moonlit room.
In her room, on her bed, she found herself sleeping. At this point Amy always woke up.
She never knew what it meant, nor did she know if she wanted to: the dream occupied a rare, diminutive space that only she was allowed to exist in; it was a part of her, like a phantom limb.
Sitting on the new, untouched bed, in the tiny room that was now hers, Amy felt disconnected. She wondered if the dream could possibly find its way through the void of space, all the way to the station, past the metal walls and into the world behind her eyes. Was that unreasonable? Nothing else followed her here: not her past, friends, family, disease, radio, or wars. She actually forgot to bring any photographs; all that she had brought was junk, with no real meaning to her.
Why was that? Amy wondered if it was a subconscious effort. She decided to not even open her bag; she simply shoved it under her bed, and then lay on top of the soft blanket, staring up at the ceiling’s softer lights.
If she counted the time preceding the immediate moment of her life, then she spent approximately the entirety of forever in waiting, wondering when the yellow door would open.
A soft click sounded from across the room, and Amy turned her head to watch Kelly Chrysanthemum step through the doorway.
Kelly Chrysanthemum
Wow, I can’t believe I get to share the same room as the pretty girl from the rocket. I know her name is Amy Kadmon, but I wonder if she remembers mine?
Kelly timidly stepped to her bed, and set her bag on top of the blanket. While risking fleeting glances at Amy, she unzipped her bag and pulled out her belongings: a stuffed animal representing an orange cat, a selection of her favourite books, a game boy with three different games, a photograph of her best friend, and her diary. She set the cat, which she had named Melville, against her pillow, and arranged the other items on top of the small dresser.
Awkwardly, she sat down on her bed and looked at the floor. I get to sleep beside her for a year. She looked at Amy, as Amy looked up at the ceiling. Her short black hair spilled artfully over the soft pillow, which propped her head; she had naturally peach-coloured lips and her skin was the colour of snowflakes. When Kelly had left her hometown, it was still snowing; apparently the snow had followed her all the way into space.
While romanticizing the situation, she carelessly bit her tongue. “Ow.”
Amy turned her head, focusing her empathetic blue eyes on Kelly. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah,” Kelly said as she rubbed her mouth. “I just bit my tongue.”
Nodding, Amy broke out a smile, as though she were holding back laughter. “I’m Amy.”
“Kelly.”
“Oh, I really like that name.”
“Thanks. I really like Amy.”
The Last Day
The lights flicked on. Kelly curled into a tight ball, desperately trying to hide her body; she imagined that if she squeezed hard enough, she could turn invisible. Other than the careful steps coming towards her, the only sound she could hear was that of her own heavy breathing. Can he hear me, too? She held her breath, and then almost immediately let go of it. Come to think, she thought, I’m not a very good swimmer. I don’t want to drown, and I don’t want to die.
The room’s chill brushed the bare skin of her arms and legs, and she could not help shivering; all that she wore was the silver nightgown supplied by the station. Well, that and underpants.
She rubbed her legs together and wished someone were there to keep her warm, to hold her and never let go. She wished for someone soft and loving, with a kind smile and reassuring words.
At the end of the bed the light was broken by two dark shapes: boots.
The blanket was pulled up.
The First Day
All four of them had gathered in the lobby for a briefing; the scientists needed to further explain some vital bits of information about their living conditions, so that no one accidentally, say, opened a window. In case any of them were blind, the fire extinguisher was identified. They watched the video screens and listened to the audio with a dulled silence, trying not to appear fidgety in sight of their employers.
Isaac looked up into the black, soulless eye of a camera, which revolved its lens and stretched towards him. They can watch our every move, whether we realise it or not. He returned his focus to the video screen, though the hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end. They just talk and talk and talk. Am I falling asleep? I feel so tired; I wonder if you can get jet lag in space. Why do their voices have to be so monotonous? It’s like listening to white noise. I can’t handle this.
He looked over at Sebastian, or Seb as he liked to be called; he had brown hair, dark eyes, and a generally bland look to him. Yet something about the way he carried himself seemed off, like he was trying too hard to act out a role. He held his chin and appeared to listen with deep interest, but no one could be as interested in the scientists’ repetitive spiel as that. And I have to live in the same room as this guy. Does he sleep with his eyes open?
Across the table, sitting with Amy on the left, was Kelly. She looked and acted like the most harmless creature on Earth; in space, she undoubtedly was. Her short blonde hair looked as light as an angel’s feathers, and her sharp green eyes broke the boundaries of colour: they showed a gentle soul, trapped in the fragility of human flesh. He knew that he would be kind to her.
Only a quick surveying glance was managed towards Amy, before one of the scientists spoke up, and asked Isaac a question.
“No, I don’t,” he answered.
That Night
As she lay in bed staring up at the ceiling, Kelly thought about Almira and the people aboard it. She turned her head and looked at Amy, sleeping as peacefully as Snow White under glass. In her mind, Kelly sketched out a rough scenario wherein she climbed into Amy’s bed, wrapped her arms around her waist, and fell asleep against her body. Could she dream what Amy dreamed? The very thought sent butterflies to her stomach.
Out of the corner of her eye the refraction of the ceiling’s light created a fragile rainbow. She looked directly up, and past the blurred outlines of her eyebrows she noted a golden glow emanating above the crown of her head. However misplaced it seemed, the light put her at ease, as if it had always been there. She decided to check it out.
With the blanket wrapped around her knees, she sat up in bed and hesitantly touched a temple. From there, she proceeded to trace an invisible line up into her hair, and lifted her hand to the strangely warm light. The warmth buzzed, igniting every nerve in her hand, yet the sensation was not entirely unpleasant. She immediately pulled her hand away and set it on her lap.
The washroom was situated at the end of the hall, opposite the lobby. No one would be awake at this hour, and she did not want to wake anyone up; her problem with sleeping was just that — her own. She climbed out of bed, careful not to disturb Melville’s position against the pillow, and tiptoed barefoot to the metal door. The nightgown she wore was much smaller and thinner than the pajamas she was used to at home; she felt the chill of the floor rise up through her feet and into her veiled body. At the sudden surge of goose bumps, Kelly hugged herself. She opened the door with an unsteady hand.
Dark blue light cascaded down the walls of the hallway like water; the scientists had created this atmospheric lighting as a means of calming the station’s occupants, if ever they needed a night to think.
Kelly entered the washroom and shut the door; the room was cast in the glow of the strange warmth that had followed her, and she did not turn on the light. Suddenly she felt anxious, and slowly turned to face the mirror.
Caught in the reflection, suspended above her head, was a sparkling, golden halo.
The Yellow Door
Amy awoke from a dreamless sleep with a bad taste in her mouth; she turned groggily on her pillow, and stared at the disordered blankets atop Kelly’s bed. Either she had gone for a night stroll around the station, or she was in the washroom. Amy decided she should follow after, to wash the offensive taste from her mouth. Before leaving the room, however, she removed a pair of socks from the dresser and pulled them on.
She entered the watery blue hallway — no Kelly in the lobby. She then looked left. And stood in shock.
The washroom door was bordered in yellow light. Is this the dream again? Am I sleeping? The bad taste told her otherwise.
As her heart began to beat rapidly, Amy took a few careful steps towards the yellow door. Eventually she made it to the end of the hall, where she sensed a strange warmth.
Sucking in her breath, Amy entered the washroom. Inside she found Kelly sitting in the small metallic bathtub, gazing into the empty space in front of her. She was completely dry.
“Are you all right?” Amy asked.
Kelly nodded, and pressed her face to her knees. Amy stepped into the bathtub and sat down with her.
“How close are we to Heaven?” Kelly asked.
“Could be really close,” Amy said, smiling. “I think it all depends on how you look at it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, what does Heaven mean to you?”
Deus Ex Machina
An alarmingly loud, booming noise sounded from above the station. Kelly yelped and jumped vertically, shutting her eyes. Applause filled her ears, and she opened her eyes again; the boots were no longer in sight. She felt a mixture of elation and apprehension at this. Whatever caused the sound might have scared him off, she thought. But what is that clapping?
She peaked her head out of the opening slowly, and carefully looked at either side of the room. Nobody. She fully pushed herself out, and sat down on Isaac’s bed, rubbing the soreness in her arms. As she listened, the pattering sound of applause began to sound obviously like something else — rain. But that’s impossible. How can it rain in space? Alone, Kelly stood up in the room where Isaac and Sebastian had slept together for a year. She walked up to the wall closest to the station’s outer surface, and placed the side of her face against it, listening to the pelting raindrops. She set the flat of her palm against the wall, and could feel them.
Despite the perplexing situation, Kelly felt a sense of calm permeate through her body, replacing all of the fear and anxiety that had resided there. Rain tended to do that to her. She then left the wall and, with only an inkling of doubt, entered the blue hallway. No sign of life was to the right, in the lobby; nor was there anyone in the washroom, which she could see into through its open door.
She headed towards the lobby to look for Amy and Isaac anyway; they had been there last, and might be hiding. But no one was there: not behind the couches, under the table, or even in the small kitchen compartment.
As she was looking for them, something wet splashed down onto her shoulder. Water. The station’s ceiling was leaking in places. But where was it coming from? Kelly stepped quickly to one of the large windows overlooking the moon. Both the satellite and stars were muddled, contorted in different shapes and sizes. Rain was splashing against the window.
She tried to open it, but could not find any latches or devices. Thunder boomed, and Kelly ducked down into a tiny, shaking ball. While she loved the soothing sounds of rain, thunder petrified her; once the roar had subsided, she unraveled herself and looked around for a blunt object.
The Fire Extinguisher
With all of her strength, which was not much, she dragged the fire extinguisher towards the window. She strained to lift it before smashing the glass; small shards flew everywhere — no vacuum sucked them into space. Kelly let go of the extinguisher and it dropped down outside of the station, thumping as it hit the . . . ground? This was not right. The image of the moon had fallen away, and she could make out a grey metal wall, continuously being pelted by a torrent of rain.
Meticulously, she pulled the remaining shards of glass out of the window’s rim. When it was absolutely safe to do so, she climbed up into the window, and pulled her slim body out the other side.
Luckily, the ground was close enough for her to drop down without injuring herself. She shivered as her feet touched upon the cold, wet cement. Her entire body was almost immediately soaked, and her nightgown clung to the subtle curves of her figure. As she looked around what appeared to be an aircraft hangar, Kelly hugged herself, trying to stop her teeth from chattering. She looked up, and saw that the roof had been torn off.
Heaven
A steel door was built into the side of the hangar, past the mockup of Almira; from outside, it barely looked like more than a large metal box with tubes growing out of it. Water splashed beneath Kelly’s feet as she scurried to the door, which was, much to her relief, unlocked.
Inside was a hallway lit with bright white lights, in heavy contrast to those of the space station. She remembered this place: the many offices along the hallway hidden away by closed blinds, the linoleum floor with factory-produced nicks and dents, and the main observation room where all of the scientists had worked nonstop.
Now the place was eerily empty, silent but for the sound of countless buzzing monitors. Was it the weekend? She doubted that everybody would leave the place in a fully functioning state. With measured steps, Kelly stepped further into the observation room, looking from screen to screen. All of the data was gibberish to her. I know, she thought, I’ll find a phone and call home.
Just as she was turning, she sneezed, and wiped her hands on her drenched nightgown. A glowing screen off to the side caught her attention; on its display were large red letters set against a beige background. Her heart sped rapidly, and as she read the words, she felt suddenly sick.
This must be a mistake. A glitch. This isn’t real.
But she read the words again, and they were decisively unchanged: EVACUATION OF EARTH COMPLETE.