The Last Departure

At the intersection, I could go right and head home — but turning left would take me…

Why on this world would I want to head home? There is nothing, or anyone, there for me anymore. The house stands silent, covered with red dust that settles on everything. It disguised what once was. I brush it from the porch rail, but it clings, the way my sorrow clings to the edges of memory. The silence in these empty rooms echoes the hollowness inside me. yet as I stand at this crossroads, feeling a flicker of something stubborn. —Hope that somewhere, beyond the decay, life endures.

In my pocket, I carry small remnants of my past. A pebble from the garden where my mother taught me to plant seeds and grow food. A small piece of her hair braided into a tiny ring shape, which I can wear when I need to be with her. And one image of my loved ones in a strong frame, to keep them safe.

Livestock lay still in empty fields, and crops withered to dust. and rivers vanished while oceans crept higher each year. The scientists tried to warn us decades ago, but it was too late by the time anyone listened. That was when the super wealthy boarded their spaceships for greener lands. Some of us in the scientific community built smaller ships to rescue as many people as possible.

My small airship is among the last to leave for distant shores. With the final decision made, I take a deep breath, tasting the dry, acrid air, and look up at the hazy sky. As I board my airship, I glance back one last time at the street where children once played. The house stands silent, a monument to all that has been lost. I clutch my keepsakes—tokens of a world that is now only memory. The engines come to life with a gentle hum. And as I rise above the ruins, I whisper a silent goodbye to everything I’ve ever known.

From the cockpit, the vastness of space unfolds in breathtaking clarity. Ahead, dozens of other small airships drift, their lights twinkling like fireflies. Beyond them the massive mothership looms. Its colossal silhouette set against the infinite black canvas. Its surface dotted with glowing windows and pulsating lights.

As I guided my airship closer, the mothership’s true scale became overwhelming. There were thousands of windows scattered across its massive shell. its form outlined by colored lights. The flickering streams of mixed colors reminded me of fireworks. A display that once lit up the night sky during celebrations.

The autopilot maneuvered toward the docking area as a voice welcomed us aboard. “Welcome to Coeptum,” the disembodied voice announced. For the first time since my journey began, my heart raced with anticipation.

As I stepped from the airlock, my eyes caught a gleam of polished metal. A plaque mounted beside the entrance: Welcome to Coeptum (Enterprise) - Boldly we go.

This metropolis gleamed with new metal. The passageways had colorful lines on the floor helped passengers navigate the ship. Above it all, the ship’s Virtual Horizon transformed the ceiling into a simulation of a soft morning sky.

Our guide led us to our cabins. As we walked down the corridor, a woman about my age glanced over, her eyes tired but alert.

“First time on a ship this size?” she asked, managing a small smile.

I nodded. “I still can’t believe we made it.”

She held up her battered satchel. “All that’s left of home, right here.”

I held up my two satchels in agnreement. "My whole life is in these bags. I have started out with less."

“Do you know anyone on board?” I asked.

Her eyes softened, drifting as if searching for a memory. “No, no one.” Then she looked back at me and smiled. “But now, I know you.”

Our guide directed me to cabin C-1372. I said goodbye to my new friend after making plans to meet for dinner on the concourse at 6 o’clock. "C" deck, cabin 1372, located near the lab where I would be working meant the morning rush was a thing of the past.

My cabin was small but perfect—a single bed, desk, tiny bathroom, and closet. After refreshing shower, I stepped into the hallway to find dinner.

The wide hallway opened to an immense concourse. The ceiling vaulted three stories high. Along one wall was the biggest window I had ever seen,. Spanning floor to ceiling and providing a panoramic view of the universe. Tables for small groups filled the floor. Subdued lighting didn’t distract from the celestial view.

My new friend arrived while I was standing in awe at the entrance. Her gentle touch on my shoulder awakened me from my trance. We laughed and made our way to a small table with a clear view of the universe.

We sat together near the vast window. The endless universe stretched beyond the glass. The soft hum of conversation filled the air. But all I could focus on was the shimmering stars and swirling galaxies outside.

My new friend lifted her glass, filled with a pale, sparkling aperitif. “To the future,” she said .

I raised my glass, our eyes meeting for a moment of shared understanding. “To the future,” I echoed, and our glasses touched with a gentle clink.

For a while, we sat in silence, letting the enormity of what we’d survived—and what we’d lost—settle between us. I thought of those who hadn’t made it, whose laughter and stories were now only memories. Their absence was felt in the quiet, space beside us at the table. The night seemed endless beyond the glass.

Yet here we were, survivors, together. Outside, the stars seemed to promise new beginnings. Vast possibilities and the hope that life endured.

I felt a fragile hope take root as the light from distant suns danced across our faces. A hope that, despite all we’d lost, we could build something new.

The stars stretched beyond the glass, and for the first time in a long while, hope felt real.