Paradise

You can hear the footsteps growing closer and closer. Your breath shakes and your hands shake. The flashlight beams sweep across the floor, leaving no corner unchecked. They are looking for you, and you know that they will eventually find you, hiding behind the stacked crates. It feels like you are shedding pounds of sweat, forming a puddle on the floor beneath you.

'Just make a run for it,' You mentally tell yourself, 'Now or never.' You stand up and sprint to the nearest exit, holding your breath and pushing your legs to the limit. But it wasn't enough. You are tackled from behind and land hard on the concrete, scraping your hands and hitting your head, leaving a cut. You are dragged away screaming and kicking, begging them not to take you.

Every year, one person is sent to the moon. This year, though you hid in terror, it is your turn to enter the rocket. Still fighting as they rip you from the car, you scream for help and plead for your life. As far as you're concerned; no one has ever come back from one of these "trips" to the moon. What's on there? You don't know, and you have no interest in finding out. 

Managing to tear your arm out of their grip, you scramble across the floor in your last desperate attempt to save your life. Unfortunately, the people there are prepared for this; it must happen a lot, because they grab you before you can get more than a couple feet. They practically throw you back into the grip of the people who hauled you out of the car. 

There was a crowd of people watching you as you were pulled into the building, saying their last goodbyes to a stranger they will never know. You were once in one of those crowds; ignorant and selfish for thinking that something like that would ever happen to you. But karma catches up to you, and beats you down. 

You are pulled up the ramp and into the rocket; still protesting. They strap you into a chair and press a few buttons, then they quickly scamper out of the door before it closes. You are trapped in this thing, it will take off any second and land you on a place where you will most likely meet your doom. 

"3, 2, 1, take off!" You hear. Within a few seconds, you begin to feel the G-force as it pushes against you, making it hard to breathe, and making you panic. It feels like your whole body is being molded into the chair as the rocket leaves the atmosphere. Luckily, the forces don't last that long as soon you're floating in space. Finally figuring out how to unclick your seatbelt, you float up from your seat, trying to get to the window. 

You have enough food to last you the three day flight to the moon. Of course, you could always try to turn the ship around and get back to Earth, but before they left, they locked the control panel in a bullet proof glass box; so trying to get in is useless.

Grumbling, you make your way back to your seat with snacks in hand. Sitting down and opening the chip bag, you are careful not to let any escape the bag. This is going to be a long few days.

You decide to write in a blank journal you found in one of the compartments, and it came with a pen, so you had something to write with.

Day 1,

I was forced in here against my will. I thought I had rights as a human being??? Now I have three days before I most likely die. I wonder if all the rockets are on the moon, or maybe they fly themselves back? I'm not sure, but I guess I will find out. Seriously though, I never thought this day would come where I would be one of the unlucky people to get sent to my death. Why do we even do this, like, what's the point of sending someone to the moon every year?? It seems like a waste of money and resources if you ask me. Anyway, I should probably sleep, I might as well get a decent night's sleep before I freaking die!!! Goodnight. 

When you wake up the next morning, it takes a few seconds to remember where you are. Then it hits you like a punch to the stomach. Your breathing gets shallow and your heart skips, just the thought of landing makes your palms sweat and knees shake. You hope that these last two days will never end. You would rather live in this cramped rocket than land on a place where you will most likely meet your death!! You try taking a few breaths to calm yourself before you hyperventilate. 

"One, two, one, two," You count to yourself, forcing yourself to become calm, "Alright, think! How can I not die?" A ridiculous question, but one you have to ask. Of course, no brainstorming ever works without a little food, so you float on over to the box full of food, and take out a pack of goldfish and gummy bears. Just plain, original goldfish and gummy bears, simple and easy food. Ripping open the pack, you take them, one by one, up to your mouth and take your time chewing; making sure you taste every morsel. Your favorite foods slide down your throat and you wash it down with water from a bottle.

After finishing your snack, you still haven't come up with a single decent plan. There isn't much to do than wait, so that's exactly what you do. You sit yourself down in the chair, strap in, and wait. 

Time always seems to pass faster when you want it to go slow; so soon enough, you find yourself growing tired. Looking over at the clock, you see that it is ten o'clock at night, you can't tell just by looking out the window, so it's a good thing you have the clock. You settle yourself down for the night and drift off to sleep, dreading tomorrow. 

When you wake up, you stretch and yawn, readying yourself for your potentially last day living. Picking up the journal, you write your last entry:

Day 3,

Tomorrow I could be dead, but you know what? That's fine, there is nothing I can do about it and I accept that. Of course, I don't like it, but what choice do I really have? Anyway, I'm too anxious to eat, and I didn't sleep well last night, due to this anxiety. My mind keeps replaying all of my favorite memories on repeat; making me slip in and out of daydreams. Honestly, I don't mind; it's a nice distraction from the problem at hand. I'm thinking that my last meal before landing will be all the goldfish, and the rest of the gummy bears. Wish me luck! Bye.

The third day goes by way too fast. You spent every waking second worrying about your fate.

Finally, dinner time rolls along and you finish all the goldfish and gummy bears and then try to sleep. Of course you can't fall asleep, there are too many thoughts racing around in our mind, crashing into each other, causing huge waves of anxiety to flow through your body, making you feel sick. 

The night seems to slow to a crawl, only speeding up when you stopped thinking; which didn't happen very often. With every minute, the knot in your stomach grows bigger and bigger, threatening to discard the food you had eaten. The moon gets bigger and bigger every hour, until you feel the rocket slow, and tilt up, preparing to land. You gulp, closing your eyes and letting your anxiety control you. 

You let the tears fall and the sobs escape from your throat. Tears stream down your face as you feel the rocket touch down on the moon, the door hissing as it releases pressure. A sign above you lights up, telling you to exit the rocket. You stay planted in the seat. Suddenly, the sign starts to make a noise that gets higher and higher with every second, drowning out any other noise and giving you a headache. Clapping your hands over your ears, you scramble to the door, putting on the oxygen tanks provided for you, you hesitate as it opens; you could just deal with the noise and not get off...

Maybe trick the rocket into thinking you left so it will fly back to Earth where you can then escape? Dumb plan, it will never work, they will just open the door, see that I'm still there, and send me back. You sigh, letting more tears slip from your eyes. The doors creak open and the ramp pushes its way to the dusty moon surface.

You take the first step off the rocket, your legs almost giving out, and practically fall the rest of the way down. Landing hard on your knees, you look up. 

Other humans greet you,

"Welcome," One says, "To paradise."

You look around, finney seeing what it is; a luxurious world, complete with aliens living alongside humans peacefully.

"We get someone new every year, and this year, it's you! Oh, and by the way; you don't need the oxygen tank, this atmosphere is completely breathable!"

"You're in paradise!" Someone else says, helping you up.

"Paradise..." You whisper.