When I got home, the last thing I expected to see was an officer talking to my spouse. The officer gave me a small smile. I asked what had happened, though I already knew. They told me it was my turn for the voyage.
The officer started listing off the instructions. I didn’t pay attention. I had heard them all before, when an officer came for my child two years prior. Their absence still caused a pang in my heart whenever I thought of them. When the officer finished, they gestured toward the car. I hugged my spouse goodbye before getting into the front seat. They never approved of this form of population control — it was one of the only things we fought about. I could feel their somber eyes on me as we drove off.
When we arrived at the base, the officer handed me a slip of paper. I got out of the car and waited for them to drive away before looking at it. “Lot B,” it read. I looked up and surveyed the base until I found the vessel with a bright blue “B” painted on its side. As I walked over, I nodded politely at the people lined up at the other vessels. I got into my line and waited my turn, fidgeting nervously. After about five minutes, the pilot extended a hand to me, signifying that it was my turn to get on. I took their hand and they pulled me onboard in one fluid motion. The co-pilot was inside, ready with my name tag and headphones. They pointed toward an open seat next to a person with vibrant red hair.
Some people stared at their laps, while others made knowing eye contact with other passengers. Nobody made a sound. I caught the eye of a teenager who looked familiar. A glimpse of recognition seemed to pass in their big brown eyes. My eyes drifted to their name tag. “Dakota Killian Watts.” This made me recognize them. They had been good friends with my child. I smiled at them, but they just kept staring at me with a blank expression and pleading eyes.
It was about ten more minutes until all forty seats were occupied. The pilot closed the door and instructed us to put on our headphones. Everyone complied except for Dakota. The pilot repeated the instructions, but Dakota kept still, almost afraid. The co-pilot started saying something in sign language. I assumed it was the same instructions. Dakota didn’t even blink, but I could tell they were scared. The co-pilot went to take the headphones, but Dakota threw them across the vessel. The pilot’s expression softened as they murmured something to their colleague, who went into the cockpit. I tried to catch Dakota’s eye to try to tell them to do as they were told, but they were busy staring defiantly at the pilot. As my parental instincts kicked in, it took every ounce of my self-control to keep from running to Dakota.
The co-pilot finally emerged from the cockpit holding a cup of green liquid. They leaned in and whispered something to Dakota, who seemed to lose all of their defiance in one moment. Dakota looked at the co-pilot and nodded. The co-pilot handed them the cup and Dakota drank it. The pilot got their headphones and handed them back to Dakota, who put them on this time.
Both the pilot and co-pilot went into the cockpit, and neither one returned. I started to get up to go see if Dakota was all right, but suddenly the seatbelts latched on to everyone. We didn’t have to wait long before the vessel started to move.
Liftoff was difficult due to turbulence. Not to mention that the severity of our situation seemed to kick in for most of the passengers, as people began to panic and thrash against the constraints. Dakota sat as still as a statue. I looked out the window and saw space. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
The seatbelts unlatched. I stood and sat next to Dakota as the rest of our fellow passengers started trying to find a way out.
Dakota smiled sadly at me and took my hand. “We’ll be with Blake soon,” they said.
My last thought was about Blake, my child, as the ceiling opened and we all flew into the great beyond.
The officer started listing off the instructions. I didn’t pay attention. I had heard them all before, when an officer came for my child two years prior. Their absence still caused a pang in my heart whenever I thought of them. When the officer finished, they gestured toward the car. I hugged my spouse goodbye before getting into the front seat. They never approved of this form of population control — it was one of the only things we fought about. I could feel their somber eyes on me as we drove off.
When we arrived at the base, the officer handed me a slip of paper. I got out of the car and waited for them to drive away before looking at it. “Lot B,” it read. I looked up and surveyed the base until I found the vessel with a bright blue “B” painted on its side. As I walked over, I nodded politely at the people lined up at the other vessels. I got into my line and waited my turn, fidgeting nervously. After about five minutes, the pilot extended a hand to me, signifying that it was my turn to get on. I took their hand and they pulled me onboard in one fluid motion. The co-pilot was inside, ready with my name tag and headphones. They pointed toward an open seat next to a person with vibrant red hair.
Some people stared at their laps, while others made knowing eye contact with other passengers. Nobody made a sound. I caught the eye of a teenager who looked familiar. A glimpse of recognition seemed to pass in their big brown eyes. My eyes drifted to their name tag. “Dakota Killian Watts.” This made me recognize them. They had been good friends with my child. I smiled at them, but they just kept staring at me with a blank expression and pleading eyes.
It was about ten more minutes until all forty seats were occupied. The pilot closed the door and instructed us to put on our headphones. Everyone complied except for Dakota. The pilot repeated the instructions, but Dakota kept still, almost afraid. The co-pilot started saying something in sign language. I assumed it was the same instructions. Dakota didn’t even blink, but I could tell they were scared. The co-pilot went to take the headphones, but Dakota threw them across the vessel. The pilot’s expression softened as they murmured something to their colleague, who went into the cockpit. I tried to catch Dakota’s eye to try to tell them to do as they were told, but they were busy staring defiantly at the pilot. As my parental instincts kicked in, it took every ounce of my self-control to keep from running to Dakota.
The co-pilot finally emerged from the cockpit holding a cup of green liquid. They leaned in and whispered something to Dakota, who seemed to lose all of their defiance in one moment. Dakota looked at the co-pilot and nodded. The co-pilot handed them the cup and Dakota drank it. The pilot got their headphones and handed them back to Dakota, who put them on this time.
Both the pilot and co-pilot went into the cockpit, and neither one returned. I started to get up to go see if Dakota was all right, but suddenly the seatbelts latched on to everyone. We didn’t have to wait long before the vessel started to move.
Liftoff was difficult due to turbulence. Not to mention that the severity of our situation seemed to kick in for most of the passengers, as people began to panic and thrash against the constraints. Dakota sat as still as a statue. I looked out the window and saw space. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
The seatbelts unlatched. I stood and sat next to Dakota as the rest of our fellow passengers started trying to find a way out.
Dakota smiled sadly at me and took my hand. “We’ll be with Blake soon,” they said.
My last thought was about Blake, my child, as the ceiling opened and we all flew into the great beyond.