My nine lives

Her Journal.

He picked up a book laying on the ground covered in powdery dust, he swiped the cover and blew the dust off to reveal the title. ‘My nine lives’ it said. A tear ran down the boy's red cheeks, as he flipped the first page.  He paused, breathed in and out slowly and began to read.

If I told you the world ended, Would you believe me? No, I mean I wouldn’t. I'd be sceptical, ask a million questions and I might even give you an alcohol test.

Hearing the words, ‘The world ended’ is the most common thing anybody could hear in a movie or a terrible sell-out fiction. Something that a scientist might mention or speak of. Kids playing with their toys making sounds effects like, ‘BOOM! CRASH! EXPLOSIONS! BLACKNESS!’

Never in a million years, would I suspect I would be living in a child's game…

The world ended. It was 2050, and 0.00001 percent of the world's population were living on a large spacecraft floating amongst the city of stars. 

It's strange to think we’ve adjusted to this kind of living, all 700 of us. They gathered the smartest, the fittest, the most knowledgeable human beings and created a temporary refuge. It's even stranger to this that we let the rest of humanity crumble, every 99.99999 percent of it. I always feel a ping of guilt, a deep kind of sadness washes over me to know that countless hopeless lives were completely lost. But it was the only option we had, that the government had. If I hadn't joined my fathers programme I would not be standing, writing and reporting this tale.

I’m sure you have a million questions, such as, who am I? How did you find this book? well, My name is Adira. I know, pretty weird. My parents decided not to give me an ordinary name like daisy or something, thanks, mum. And to answer your second question, I’m telling you now, this is just a journal where I write my thoughts, I’m not William Shakespeare so don’t keep your hopes up. I’m so sorry, I should probably stop rambling on. rambling, that's something that my mentor Dr Williamson says. Williamson, he's like my second father, my teacher and advisor. He’s from London, most of the survivors are British which doesn't really surprise me, they hold most of our more valid information about the new world we live in; space. 

Let me begin properly, my name is Adira Damaris and I am 19 years old. The world ended approximately a year ago, 2050 when I was 17. The survivors live in the I.R ( intergalactic Refuge), a large spacecraft in the middle of nowhere, as we like to think. There's 700 of us, 600 the younger generation and the other hundred our elders. I’m sure you're wondering what I look like, trying to picture me in your imagination so my journal makes more sense. Well, I have dark skin and long thin braids that meet my tiny waist. I have light hazel eyes that touch my extensive eye-lashes. I was rather tall for my age, 5 foot 10, people say if I was on earth I’d be a model and I thank them, but I hate it. Girls my age believe beauty is everything, but it is not. beauty is what makes people believe I’m stupid, that I was only saved because of my looks or that I somehow managed to seduce the creator. Welcome to the perks of being a woman. People lie about you, assume your only life purpose is to form a family and be all looks and no brains. It's sickening.  Being a woman is hard enough, try being a black woman. The only black woman aboard the I.R.