Abandoning a Questionably Bright Future

[Strichev]

The next thing I remember is sitting on a beach with a cartridge based plasma pistol touching the side of my head. Someone was going to blow my head off. I was certain of that. Only after a minute or so came enlightenment. If anyone, then it will be me ending my life on that strip of sand. It was my index finger on the trigger, my hand grasping the handle. It just seemed unreal, as if I were not in my own body.

I do realise that sounds insane, but I’ve told so much that there is no point in stopping now.

In what must have been panic I looked around, worried about any potential onlookers. Luckily no one was around. With a shaking hand I lowered the gun and slowly placed it out of sight – into my rucksack. A sour taste lingered in my mouth, without doubt a legacy of too much alcohol and my night perambulations. Looking around the surroundings seemed familiar. I was halfway between home and the Pilot’s Flask. A good fifteen-minute walk lay ahead. Far on the east the clouds were starting to glow in all shades of orange, criss-crossed by innumerable condensation trails left by ships of all sorts. The world was beginning to awake and yet the sea’s gentle waves washing the few pebble created a sense of tranquillity. If nothing else you could call it a beautiful morning. I just couldn’t get myself to move. The skies started returning to their usual cerulean blue, only on the east a mass of white clouds, now coloured by the sun lingered. Sky blue. That reminded me of someone and it felt like a needle in my heart. It was time for me to go. Go home at first and then up, up under the celestial dome that is a shroud of blackness. Up there, I thought, there is not a trace of blue. Sure, I did realise that all you had to do to see it in space was to turn your head to the first terrestrial planet, but I got fixated on the thought of escaping the gravity.

It was Saturday and the apartment block smelled of coffee. People just can’t wake up without that disgusting brown sludge. I can’t understand them. At least for me it’s easy to wake up without it.

The details of the greeting I was honoured with are of no importance. You can imagine my mother wasn’t exactly happy, especially because my father, who likes ethanol containing drinks a bit more than a usual specimen of his age, apparently got home just one hour before me. I got lectured a bit, and it could have been an effective lecture (it almost made me feel bad) if I hadn’t just crashed on my bed. The rucksack lay in the corner, its soggy shape indicating an almost empty interior.