The Space Between Us

Chapter 1

7 days. 22 hours. 34 minutes. That is how long I had until I was eligible for execution.

I would say that many, if not all, would be terrified for this day to come. But then again, I would say many have never been so alone.

I used to be the opposite of lonely. I used to be surrounded by love. I even dreamed of leaving this place, of going home to Earth.

But now I could not care less. The Ark isn't my home. The Earth isn't my home. The Earth will never be my home. I have no home.

My father was my home. My old mother was my home. They're gone now, too. Because unlike I once thought, your home will never be a place. It will never be the sky or the Earth and certainly not the Ark. Your home is in the arms of your father or in the words of your mother. It's in the constant nagging of friends to be careful of that boy. It's everywhere around you; it's in the people that love you. I lost my home. I lost my father.

He was killed for knowing too much, and my mother is dead to me for not knowing enough. Not knowing that I could never forgive her for this.

The last time I saw my father was the last time I touched my mother. That was the last time I cared. She held me in her shaking, fragile arms as I fought her and the tears that soaked my face. I would have liked to have gone with him that day.

The corridor was cold and loud with screams and machinery. I remember the most heartbreaking face of all was my own - or the reflection of my own in the glass of the execution box. But my father's face was the most terrifying. When the door was released by a lever too basic to know its power, my father's soul seemed to have been sucked out of him before his body flew into the great abyss of black and space. The most terrible thing about it all was how beautiful space was and how beautiful my father was not as he tumbled into it. Although you could not hear his screams, you could feel a ripple of motion slicing through the air. I do not ever imagine I will forget that feeling.

After that day, stories of my mother scattered like wildfire around the station. One said that my mom finally drank herself to death, letting the guilt of my dad's death consume her. I could nearly smile at that one - my mom thinking she had the right to mourn my father. Others said she's just fooling around with councilmen Kane. Some kids have made up ridiculous tales, trying to piss me off, while others assure me that they have simply lost their mind, but I know there's truth deeprotted in every joke. Everyday Wells assures me that she's okay, and I assure Wells that I don't care. I could never care for her after what she did to me.