7 Minutes

If nothing else, what a view it was. I could hardly take it all in - our little slice of the universe. Back when I was a kid, I’d spend hours looking up at the stars through the telescope my mum worked two jobs to afford. And now here I was, in the front row. Splashes of colour on the endless black backdrop, blues, greens, oranges and yellows. Hundreds upon hundreds of stars, galaxies and nebulae painted onto the unparalleled canvas of space. An explosion of beauty beyond what could be manufactured through the hands of an aged artist, or captured in the lens of a camera.

Through the thin translucent visor that separates me from the empty vacuum, I simply observe.

A few moments later, my hand came up to the side of my helmet, and I clicked a small button, cutting off any communications with the ship. The voice in my ear fell silent. What more was there to say? I had said what few goodbyes I had to say and accepted my fate. Now all there is to do is float aimlessly in the nothingness, the snapped tether still floating alongside me.

I kept my eyes fixed on the view before me, my breathing calmer than it was before. Once I had taken in all that I could, I closed my eyes, ready for the beyond.

But a few moments later, I opened them once more. Thoughts remained restless in my mind. But why? How much had I achieved over my admittedly short time on and around this planet? I was the youngest person ever to become an astronaut, having passed the academy with flying colours. I had done more for the scientific community than most. I had even received medals in droves for my dedication and exemplary service.

So why was I not ready to meet my end? Was I not satisfied? I would have liked to have done more, of course I would - but it wasn’t that, no. It was something else. I was - unfufiilled.

I watched helplessly as my mind drifted back to her; the memories of all my ‘achievements’ drowned beneath the unstoppable tide. The one that I had left behind. It was easier that way. Work had been demanding, and I had almost always been busy. And deep down, I knew that this day would come when I would leave this planet for the last time. I didn’t want anyone to be sad. I hated it when I made people sad.

It made me think of my late mother and her tireless life.

My father had left before I could remember a face to miss, and seemingly disappeared off the face of the earth. I joked sometimes that I would find him out here instead, but I knew I wouldn’t. I guess it was just one of my ways of coping. My mother had never remarried, for he had been the only one for her. Even though he treated her so poorly, or so I was told.

I never understood why she longed for him the way she did, sitting out on our porch, hoping he’d come back. But then again, I guess I never really tried to. I wonder if she did that whenever I went on a mission, looking up at the sky from her old wooden rocking-chair. A part of me hopes not.

Violet did. Of course she did. She probably still did now. Or maybe not, after all, she did have a new husband and two kids now.

I never wanted kids.

That was one of the things we used to always fight about. It makes me wonder whether we were doomed from the start. Who am I kidding? Of course we were. But that doesn’t mean that it didn’t still hurt.

The few friends and colleagues I could say that I had asked about our divorce. Of course I loved her. That was a simple, irrefutable fact. I always liked those. Facts never argued with me. But alas, things turned out the way they did. I went back to my work, and she went back to living. Just with somebody else.

I hoped she was happy. I’d never wish anything ill on her. It wasn’t ‘my style’. I wasn’t the right match for her. That had been that. It would have been pointless to engage in such frivolous activities of hate and resentment.

One last time, I pictured her smile, before the memories retreated into my subconscious.

So what had I been left with? The thought echoed around my mind. Still, I floated slowly further and further away from the ship and Earth. A small red ping on my wrist alerted me that I had merely a few minutes of oxygen remaining.

That conversation I had with Elijah over the communications channel had gone on for longer than I thought. It had mostly been him telling me I would be okay and that they were going to save me. But they had been hollow words. Not that I held it against him, of course not. I had simply been aware of the situation I was in. He would be alright. They all would be.

Sure, they’d mourn for a while. But eventually they would move on. Perhaps there would even be a moment of silence in memory of me back on Earth, where the workers who spent seven sleepless nights a week in the great big factories could have a meagre rest. But when the sun rose beyond the thick black smog on the next day, they too would move on. Some, perhaps even most, would forget completely after a while.

I’d never done any of this for the acclaim, or the praise or anything else like that. But still, I couldn’t help but think about what legacy I would leave. Who was going to remember me? What would I really be remembered for? Would I be the fearless astronaut who pioneered space travel for generations to come, or would I be the lonely man who sunk his whole life into the stars only to die among them? Alone.

I had felt something swell deep within me, something new. Something that I couldn’t remember having felt before - or at the very least processed. Regret.

Had my time on this earth been so poorly spent? So much of my life had been consumed with this never-ending search for purpose, only to fall short in the end. Perhaps it had been just out of my reach. Maybe that had been the case all along.

None of us will leave a mark in the grand scheme of things. We are not small fish in a big pond; we are not even the atoms that make up the water. Humans are a species that live and fight over a very small rock in a very large, empty universe. So what was the point? If nothing we do will ever ultimately mean anything, then why bother doing anything at all?

I thought back to an argument I’d had with Violet. It was about just this, and my ‘exhausting search for a greater purpose’. She told me that my purpose didn’t have to be up in the stars, all alone. It could have been one surrounded by family and friends. By her. If only I had given her more time and not pushed her away. I pushed everyone away. It had been... easier that way.

But as I looked back, I felt that I had made the wrong choice. Children could have continued my legacy long after I’d gone. They would probably have loved my stories about the stars. And I could have been there for them, unlike how my father had been for me.

Too late for that now. It isn’t long before I started to feel lightheaded.

I will dream now. Surrounded by the beautiful stars and endless colours of our universe. I will dream of a different life. One where I made better choices and spent my time more wisely. Where I live on a kinder planet. One of golden skies and full bellies. One without suffering. One without regret. One where I have a purpose.

I take one last look at everything. Then I close my eyes. And drift into an eternal slumber.

My suit beeps one last time as the oxygen gauge reaches zero.

Peace at last.