The Optimist's Handbook

The moment Astrid truly accepted that her favourite book wasn't a work of fiction was the moment she decided she had no other option than to eject herself out of the airlock.

She wasn't the first to come to this rather extreme conclusion after reading the title, but the population of Gen-Ship-Six had yet to notice the connection between the innocuous title amongst the recently deceased possessions and the series of grisly suicides that had followed it's odyssey through readers hands.

Astrid had found the book in the redistribution centre. A cold name for the room which stored the warm remainders of lives lived then extinguished, aboard a space ship where none of the passengers were alive at the journey's commencement and none would survive thought to it's destination. 

The system of redistributing possessions made sense though. Nothing novel was produced on the ship, so with each new generation the personal effects of the previous one became more and more sparse as accidents, loss and wear and tear claimed more and more of the luggage brought on-board from Earth by the 20 million original passengers, a hundred and fifty years ago.

Astrid had no idea who the book had belonged to before she picked it up from under a slightly chipped, ornate ramen bowl. The book was ragged and discoloured, the only way books looked nowadays. Astrid had never seen a new book, it was lucky if the titles she came across were in one piece, not defaced and managed to hold themselves together long enough for her to reach the last page.

'The Optimist's Handbook' had felt heavy in her grip as she extracted it from the pile and turned it over to read the blurb.

"When the dark of night feels like the end of all things, remember the blue of the dazzling sky, the smell of keen grass in summer, the feel of a kind, warm breeze on your face."

The book may as well have been written in Latin for all the comprehension those descriptions held for Astrid. Certainly she knew what grass, sky and wind were, but none of those things had ever brought her joy. The grass on Gen-Ship-Six had a faint chemical smell due to the solution that fed it and forced it to stay alive. Astrid had learned in school that grass on earth was fed by the sun that radiated itself onto the planet's surface. A blue sky was another story. The 6D cinema in her neighbourhood allowed viewers to gaze up into the turquoise heavens, as the earth dwellers had experienced centuries previously, but the distantly visible pixels and soft hum of electricity fizzled around Astrid's brain and she was unsure if the experience had been all together as authentic as what staring up into a real sky would be like; The Optimist's Handbook suggested not. As for the warm breeze on her face; steadily controlled air conditioning was the closest comparison she could imagine, and this was not some kind of devine, blissful feeling, rather, a necessity to existing on the space ship without suffocating.

Over the following week, Astrid found herself continuously buried in the curious book, trying to imagine feelings she had never felt before, sinking further and further into despair as she attempted to accept the fact she would never understand the emotions that the author was trying to evoke.

"David, have you ever wondered what it's like to smell wet soil after a dry spell?" Astrid asked her brother over a meal of artificially grown steak, beans and brocoli.

"Ehhh, what?" David replied absently while tapping away at his xCube.

"It's called petrichor," she continued glancing down at the book to check the word again, not really needing him to answer, or even to pay attention, she just wanted to wonder outloud. "It sounds wonderful. Earthy and deep, but also, sort of fresh and just so... alive."

This time David didn't even respond. Astrid looked at him for a few moments then went back to reading. Hungry to learn about more sensations from Earth, even though each one brought her no satisfaction and instead pushed her further and further into despondency.

The following morning she had read about a simple pleasure called 'people watching.' This one she felt was achievable. Gen-Ship-Six had cafes where she could go and sip coffee and eat bread. The Handbook had talked about a French deli, beautiful flowers growing up the visage, striped umbrellas scattered around the front entrance, casting shade onto intricate tables and chairs made of cast iron and painted pure white. The Handbook encouraged readers to take to their favourite spot, such as this one, and watch the passing characters, noticing how they interact. Laughter and love, rage and grief painting pictures between friends, family and lovers. Take in their clothes, shoes and bags, it continued, their unique features that make the world rich and romantic.

And so, that lunch time instead of staying in her apartment Astrid sat, coffee dispensed into a plain white cup, croissant sitting on a napkin atop a small plastic table outside her neighbourhood's pipeline entrance, observing people getting on and off the transport system. Her excitement turned to woe in only a few minutes after she hadn't spotted a single person who wasn't permanently staring down at their xCube. There hadnt been so much as a glance shared between two people, let alone a word of passion or anger, or... anything. Also, no one's clothes were particularly exciting. The Handbook didn't have pictures so she didn't know what exactly the author would have seen outside that French deli but she was sure it wasn't the various hues of grey and black, shapeless tops and trousers, all made out of the same plain textured fabric, that was on offer in her current vista.

Sighing, she put down her coffee and flipped open her own xCube, instructing it to show her 'French fashion through history.' She abandoned the cafe- and her uneaten croissant- 5 minutes later, silent tears streaming down her face.

Just shy of a week had passed and Astrid stood at airlock 6754. She had finished The Optimist's Handbook and stowed it away in her bookshelf the previous evening making a vague attempt to sleep, but no respite came. She had soon got up again and stared out of her window into the blackness of space surrounding her and felt a feeling she'd never really comprehended before- she was trapped. She would always be trapped, she would never leave the walls of Gen-Ship-Six. She would never feel the warmth of a burning star on her face, or smell the overwhelming perfume of a summer garden in bloom. She would never see a sublime Prada outfit on the body of a firey French woman as she slapped her lover and strode away down a cobbled street. She would never gaze out on a twinkling city at night, or feel the calm, cool breeze ruffle her hair. It was all too much, because, it wasn't enough.

She reached out her hand to pull the emergency handle at the exact moment her xCube shook with a notification in her pocket. Her hand paused in its advance.

"Pick up Astrid, oh my stars, something wonderful has happened, pick up!"