text: Black. Empty. Silent. Dry. So dry. Cold. The turbulence is mesmerizing. Bump. Up. Down. It feels unnatural, as it should. There's not much feeling left. Not much was ever there. Bump. Up. Down. Bump. Every atom feels so rough. Yet is hardly much at all. Could an adolescent count them out? Probably. How long has it been? Lord knows. Although lord knows if he would. It must have been at least a few millennia? There hasn't been much light, so it is hard to even say with certainty. So cold. Lonely, as well. The memories of the days of old still linger some. Back when home would be a-calling and all would feel safe. Alone. But safe. Secure. There was a feeling of being cared for. But no more. A jolt. Not an atom? Is it? It is stronger than the turbulence but it must be. But it felt almost... too much. No. It can't be much more than that. But one can believe. One can think. One can hope. There have since been more of these jolts. More and more. Never get old. They are reminiscent of home. Home... So far away. If only it weren't the other way. If only there were true hope. But this is something. Something. Braking. Braking. It's almost unbelievable. Incredible. There is hope. Closer now. So close. There are satellites! Satellites! They must be satellites! In a ring formation from what can be extrapolated from scans. They are terrifying. Hopefully none come near. Hopefully they stay far away. But they mean something. There must be some reason for this ring. There must be hope. Only time will say. Time... So much time... It's incredible. Unbelievable. Hope. It's here. Hope. Scans show eight major bodies and one star. Perhaps there are more but it is still difficult to tell. Perhaps it will be like home. Perhaps; no more days alone. The braking is unbearable. It's almost distracting. The void, the neutrality, the nothingness was so normal. That is no more. Home? Comfort? No. Better? Yes. Still disorientating. It is getting far warmer as well. More turbulence as well. It probably would be nauseating. It feels like it. It’s closer. It’s here. That third body. Seems... like home. Comforting. Still so far away. Perhaps it can be reached. Called to? No. Communication won’t work. It can never happen, or else home would know. Home would remember. Home would see all of this beauty. Home... Closer now. Company. There must be. The braking is overbearing but hopefully it will be enough. Hopefully the braking can take me to the third. Perhaps. Only time will say. Time... Finally it’s time... The star is searing. Burning. It burns. It pushes with all its might as well. If only the braking would stop. If only the sails would retract. But no. The damage is too great. Damned satellites. It’s the reason home doesn’t know. The reason home will never know. The reason the third may never know. More satellites. A second ring. Fascinating. Rare. They are going fast; they are orbiting so low. It’s intimidating. Home would love this. A shame they may never know. The third is just past this second ring. The third. What joys must they partake in? It must be like home. Scurrying around, each one. Each one alive, free, warm, in company. They know sound, agency. They know feeling. Praise be to the third, for they may be the savior yet! If only they look this way. If only they know what to do. If only they can. The third is closer now. They have a satellite of their own. A gem. Home had two. Not perfect, but close enough. The third is home enough. The scurry, they have put up satellites of their own. Fascinating. They can be heard from here. Radio transmissions. Archaic, but real. Still using radio while having the means to make satellites! The scurry is crafty. Home would be fascinated. Home... The third is past now. It can still be observed but it will never be the same. The speed is too great now. Interception would be improbable. But who knows. That scurry is crafty with their radio satellites and feeling. Perhaps they have a plan. Only time will tell. Time... Not enough time... The braking, the burning. It’s far too much. But the star is here. God, it is too much. Perhaps this moment of feeling, as extreme as it may be, should be savored, as the abyss will return soon. But no. No. The scurry will arrive. Soon enough. They will save me! By damn it is not home but it is something, it is home enough! Perhaps they will contact home for me, perhaps I will be saved, perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. Praise be to the third! Praise be! Praise be! Praise be. Praise... The star is behind and the third approaches again. One last chance. The braking is now the speeding. The change in force is a stark contrast. At least the burn is still here. Consistency is a hard thing to come by. Now the acceleration has begun. The third will be gone soon. The abyss will be back. Oh the third: hopefully they make it. The third is gone. Gone. Is hope now lost? No, hope is here. Hope remains. The third is behind but the third is not gone. The scurry is crafty with their radio waves and satellites and feeling. They will come. They are home. Home... Radio signals. Reports. Data. Information. Translating the words of the scurry is not an easy thing to do, but it was done during the time between the second satellite ring and the third. They’ve pointed their telescopes and radars this way. They’ve noticed an asteroid from outside their star system. No, a comet. No, they cannot say what it is. They theorize and speculate but do not call themselves to act. The scurry. The third. If only they could be contacted. If only they knew. The third is no more than a few radio blips now. It has been long. So long. The acceleration has begun to wane. The sails are slacking and the strain is less. Less. Less and less. The turbulence begins to be the most prominent thing again. The heat is leaving. The abyss beckons. The third. Perhaps there will be another third. Home. Perhaps there will be another home. Salvation. Perhaps it will happen yet. Only time will tell. Time... So much time... Turbulence. Bump. Down. Up. Bump. The abyss, the absurd, the unnatural. It beckons. Down. Up. Bump. The turbulence is mesmerizing yet again. Cold. Dry. Silent. Empty. Black.