The Hope of The Human Race

I clutched the remote tightly in my hand, teeming with fear and excitement. I do this every year although I know it will never be me. The TV projected a fuzzy blue glow around my small apartment, illuminating my leftovers on the coffee table in front of me. It was dark out already and I could see the stars through the sliding glass door, my lights were off too and all my attention was on the TV. 

The screen displayed the ‘Hope of the Human Race’ logo at the bottom with a headline on the news ticker that read: ‘This year's moon traveler announcement tonight’. 

There was no way it could be me, why even if it was I am not sure what I would do. I thought about the math in my head, with the number of people on the planet and the number of countries participating in the annual moon traveler event, I was one in seven billion. Without fail however, my heart rate increases until the name inevitably isn't mine. I pushed myself upright and turned to walk towards the kitchen, I scooped my plate up off the table and ran the water over it in the sink. I kept a casual eye on the program as it played through and decided it was time to finish the dishes. As I was scrubbing I realized they were on the verge of announcing the name, seconds away. 

“This year, the person who we will send to the moon and make our 155th annual moon traveler will be…”

My heart stopped. It simply could not be, I must have misheard, I know they did not announce my name it was impossible. I dropped the plate I was holding and it shattered on the floor. I didn't even flinch. I ran over to the couch and surely enough my name was running across the screen on the news ticker; I re-winded the program and re-watched the announcement. They repeated my name. I rubbed my eyes until I was seeing blotches of colors in the air before re-watching a third time. It was me. 

I ran to my room, not even bothering to turn off the sink that I had left running, grabbing as many things as I could and stuffing them into a duffel bag I kept at the top of my closet. They know where I am, they know where I am, they know where I am. 

My head pounded as I rushed myself out the door, leaving it ajar. I had no idea where I would be able to run, as I scurried down the hallway to the staircase I felt the uncomfortable feeling of eyes staring at the back of my head as I ran. Once I made it to the ground floor I scanned along the street view, nobody was out this late except for the military caravan that was surely on its way to my apartment now, ready to send me to the moon. I tried to form a plan. If the caravan would be coming from their nearest facility, in the center of the city, they would be coming from the northern direction. I was puzzled after that, when they arrived to find me missing, which direction would they go? Did I leave behind too many clues? Would they be able to trace me to wherever I had gone?

I took a chance and darted towards the east, down past my apartment building, attempting to determine my location in the dim light of the evening. I thought maybe that it was better that it was me, I should go back to my apartment and accept my fate, maybe it was meant to be that I am the next moon traveler. Maybe it was a good thing that it was me, it could have been a man with a family or a single mother or even someone whose life was leading somewhere. 

I thought what if I never got chosen, what would I have made of my life? Every year I am scared at the prospect of the possibility of my name being chosen and yet I never am given motivation by the fact that it is never me. My ambition has brought me to living alone in my dirty apartment, leftovers thrown nonchalantly around the living room watching TV with all the time I had off. Regret consumed me, I had so many chances to improve myself and yet I never left the couch. Surely my life being put on the moon - probably not having survived the trip like the last 155 people - is a better option than someone who has the chance now to live life to its fullest extent. 

My legs slowed down as I entered an ally that was at least two miles from my apartment. I herded the roar of an engine and my shadow was projected against the wall in front of me as two bright lights shined behind me and I realized in my haste I had forgot to account for one thing: there was always more than one caravan. 

The men put a bag over my head and I did not resist, this was the end of the rope and I was now the hope of the human race, with a bag over his head, being put into the back of a military vehicle. The ride to the launch site was a daze and I ended up sleeping, all struggle had been drained from my body and soul as I accepted my fate upon launch in the morning. When the day of the launch finally came, I remember the force of their hands on my body putting me into place and strapping me into the rocket, the g force pulling the skin back on my body and pinning me against the seat, I squeezed my eyes shut as tight as I could, knowing my death would be coming and that the rocket would not make it out of the atmosphere. 

But next I remember silence taking over, my eyes slowly opening to darkness surrounding me and the moon in my path. It took me moments to realize what had occurred, I had survived and I was en route to the moon. 

As I record my experiences here at my desk I have to make a special note to remember the thoughts I had before landing on the moon. Had I not been chosen, what would I have made of my life? I see now what my life was made for and what my destiny as the 156th moon traveler had become, the hope of the human race.