The Amount of Hope I Have

The Amount of Hope I Have

I am running out of time.

There is only 0.1% battery left in my bracelet. I know what that means. When it dies, I will not be able to recharge it. It has remained powered for 536,281 Earth years, that is exactly how long I have been on this planet.

The bracelet is thin but very sturdy. You won’t find any scratches on it. The little embedded screen with numbers glows slightly. The glow is warm; it usually calms me. It brings back happy memories.

It is the only thing I have left from the spaceship. It has been with me for as long as I can remember. Everyone had a bracelet on the ship. They unlocked chambers and computers, gave access to research files and served as a means of communication between us.

My father never allowed me to play with mine. I was never supposed to take it off.

“Latta, make sure you never lose your bracelet,” he would say.

I used to laugh secretly at his words; of course, I did not want to lose it. Firstly, I was proud to wear it. It was a symbol of belonging to the expedition, to the people of Leema. Secondly, it allowed me to cheat while playing hide-and -seek with my dad! I would just turn on the map with everyone’s location on the ship and run straight to him.

I was a smart kid.

I do not remember much about my father. Only that he was tall and had a soft voice. I think he was a biologist, although I cannot be sure. I was too young to understand what most of the adults around me did.

But I remember my mother well. She had long wavy hair, a beautiful dark red color, and shiny, turquoise eyes. My mother’s name was Alita and she was a doctor, the only medical professional on the ship.

The ship was huge, or at least it seemed so to me, with various research laboratories, private and common rooms, long corridors, and observation decks. I knew every inch of it, except for the sections which my bracelet could not unlock for safety reasons.

You see, I was born on the ship—the only child ever conceived, carried, and born in space.

“Latta, you are a miracle,” my mother used to tell me. “When we return to Leema, you will be Leema’s princess. The girl who was born in space.”

She would smile and look proudly at me. I believed I was special. A princess of Leema. The girl who was born in space.

“Tell me about Leema,” I would ask.

“It is the most beautiful planet in our star system. You will love the Golden ocean; it sparkles as if someone scattered millions of tiny stars across the water.”

“And the sky is orange?” I knew the answer but still needed to confirm.

“The sky is orange by day and purple at night!” My mom would say. “It is the most amazing planet in the whole Universe!”

“Are there children there?”

“Millions of them!”

I knew that answer as well but needed to hear it again. Being the only child on the ship sometimes felt lonely.

I was happy to have the same conversation about Leema over and over again. I dreamed of Leema. I wanted to see its orange and purple sky and listen to the waves of the Golden Ocean. I imagined my return to the magic Kingdom.

I was probably around 5 years old at that time.

I don’t remember much about the crash. Only some fragments –the ship shaking beneath my feet, lights flickering, sirens wailing, the room suddenly turning upside down. Everything was spinning, I could hear loud bangs and then there was total darkness.

I was found lying on the sand, on the ocean shore. I opened my eyes when I heard people speaking. I was surrounded by a crowd. I could not recognize the people or their language. What was worse, these were not the sky and the ocean I had dreamt about.

At first, I hoped I would be found soon. Being still a kid, I waited patiently for the signal, message, any tiny beeping, any change in the glow of the screen of the bracelet. Anything from Mom or Dad.

When I was older, I started to search by myself. I have been to all corners of this planet. I looked for anything that could have been left after the crash. Any wreck or object. In every city or village, I listened carefully for a familiar language.

I studied sacred scriptures. I read thousands of books and watched millions of news programs, hoping they would mention the crash, the ship or the bracelets.

I found nothing.

I have been stranded on this planet for 536,281 years; I know that I do not belong here. My body has never adapted; I grow and age very slowly. I am tall, I have the same wavy red hair and turquoise eyes as my mom. When people ask me about my age, I usually say I am 19, although I am younger.

I always try to get a job on a remote farm. I stay there as long as I can. But I need to relocate frequently. It is unsafe to stay at the same place; people become too curious.

I have to move again tomorrow.

I have lived in this village for 15 Earth years. It is one of my favorite places, the sky stays clear most nights. I rarely sleep. I watch the sky until my eyes hurt, trying to find Leema. I wish I knew more about it. I am longing for a place I have never even seen.

I have to pack for tomorrow morning. I do not have much stuff; I do not care about anything here.

I used to feel pity for myself, frustrated with the unfairness of it all. Now all emotions are fading. I am just tired.

I am looking at the bracelet, and the same old anger is rising slowly. You useless piece of metal. Why aren’t you picking any signal? Why do I even keep you? What is the point?

But I am tired of this anger too.

536,281 years of fruitless search.

What am I going to do when the battery dies? One day I will have to think about it, but I keep pushing this thought away.

I still have 0.1% of hope. Early in the morning, I will move again.