"I feel the sun on my face. I see trees all around me, the scent of wildflowers on a breeze.
It's so beautiful.
In this moment I'm not stranded in space watching my cousin draw on the floor.
It's been ninety-seven years since a nuclear apocalypse killed everyone on Earth, leaving the planet simmering in radiation.
Fortunately, there were survivors.
Twelve nationals had operational space stations at the time of the bombs. There is now only The Ark, one station forged from the many.
We're told the Earth needs another hundred years to become survivable again. Four more space-locked generations, and man can go home, back to the ground."
I moved closer to Clarke's masterpiece to see her drawing a picture of our view from the window in our cell. I'm surprised that space has become her muse instead of the thought of being on the ground.
"The ground, that's the dream.
This is reality."
