Work Text:
In the darkness that encompasses the entire expanse of space, there is a single, blue shape.
A dot. Perhaps a few light years’ away, or perhaps only mere kilometers—she’s not sure anymore. Once, it had been bigger than that—once, she could hold the shape in her palm, like a small marble. Could form the head of a little stickman she often doodles on the windowpane.
Now, it’s become like the stars in the night sky.
It’s become colder, much colder lately.
The nib of the specialized marker meets the surface of the windowpane. It turns, curves on itself, round the small blue dot in the distance. A head. The body comes next—this time, no longer a mere stick. There’s meat there—or at least, some thickness. Its hands are bloated, sure, and not at all humanlike, but she’s not an artist, has never been one.
Its fingers stick out, pointing to its head. The marker moves again, draws a faded dialogue bubble right above the figure’s head.
“Look… a… blu—erm…”
She pulls the marker back, observing her masterpiece for the day. She’s drawn a human figure—or at the very least, an abstraction of it—pointing at its head, and the dialogue above it reads: look, a blue pimple.
She leans back into the wall, laughing at her own joke. The fluctuating crescendos echoing ominously through the walls of the cockpit. Still, she laughs, laughs, and laughs, until her breath runs out, until there’s nothing left in her to force out.
It is day 75.
Day 75 since the accident.
There is nothing but radio silence. Except for the low droning of a mechanical voice, like a gentle reminder.
“Power below o—imal—vels… Po—low—optimal levels…”
She sighs, pushes herself towards the handle on the panel. With some effort, she pulls it down.
The voice cuts off.
She looks again to her new piece, to the little cartoon with the blue pimple.
The only color she’ll ever see, in the vast expanse of darkness that is space.
--
Kim Dahyun.
Kim Dahyun.
Kim.
Da.
Hyun.
Her name is Kim Dahyun.
She draws the pen back, watching her new artwork—or rather, would it be considered as wall décor?
The walls that surround the windowpane, once a nondescript gray, are now almost completely blackened with the various reiterations of Hangul characters. Her name. A gentle reminder to herself. For herself.
Her name is Kim Dahyun.
She adds another statement.
Her birthday is May 28.
What year?
Debatable.
She makes a guess and writes down ‘2098’.
Her name is Kim Dahyun, and her birthday is May 28 of the year 2098.
The year she’d taken off for the Jupiter exploration project was 2127.
Is it still the same year?
Who knows? She knows nothing but the passing of days—
Wait, what day is it today?
She quickly checks her notepad, eyes scanning over the various ticks she’d written over the course of time. It’s funny, looking at it now. She’d started writing them big, back when she’d started counting the days. She’d hoped then that help would come, that it’d take a week—only a week, until another shuttle would arrive.
And then a week passed.
And then months.
She makes another tick—sloppy and small, squeezing it to the far edges of the page.
Day 103.
Her name is Kim Dahyun.
Her birthday is May 28, on the year 2098.
Her name is Kim Dahyun.
Kim.
Da.
Hyun.
--
Sometimes.
Sometimes, it’s fun to mess with zero gravity.
But lately, it’s become dizzying, staying suspended in the little space of the cockpit for days on end.
The ship saves power that way, she supposes, from what she’s been told during the yearlong training. The gravity regulator, holographic maps, the automated voice, the lights, and the engine—they all eat up power at varying frequencies. Cut them all off, and maybe she’ll save on power. Maybe last a few more months.
The only things left running now are the radio and the life support systems.
But she could turn those off too, she supposes.
“No way…” she mutters to herself, keeping her eyes closed. She bumps against a panel on the wall. “Then I wouldn’t be able to eat these anymore.”
She opens her eyes a little, just to stare at the stale biscuits floating in front of her face. They’re from the rations they’d kept in storage, for when she’d begun the explorations.
It should have only lasted a few weeks.
The device had malfunctioned, hadn’t it?
When she’d blinked, and found herself all the way out of Jupiter’s orbit, staring at the lonely image of the earth. Without any clue where she actually was.
She picks one biscuit up and pushes it into her mouth, rolling it around with her tongue for a few seconds.
There is no taste.
She wishes they’d packed her with something that held at least a little bit of taste to it.
She misses the taste of chocolate.
Or anything really.
Lately, it’s becoming colder.
Lately, it’s becoming harder to—
To—
It’s been getting harder to remind herself. The little things, the big things—
All she sees is the darkness of space.
And a single blue dot.
A blue dot.
That blue dot.
--
Day 150.
The blue dot is gone.
Today is a cold, cold day.
There is nothing but the bleak blackness of space, and the tiny bits of starlight that are scattered throughout.
She’s never been one to cry, really. The last time she’d cried was when she’d graduated from the academy. The tears had streaked through her smiles then—all cheeky, with her eyes squeezed into little crescents, the cameras flashing in front of her. She looks at that picture now, a little crumpled and frayed at the edges. Looks at the small pin of a spaceship clipped to her breast pocket then—runs her fingers along the same one still clipped on the same place.
A gift from her family.
She was surrounded by them then, as well, proud little smiles on their faces.
It must have been five years ago, she supposes.
She lowers the image.
There is nothing now. Not even the memory that image holds. A memory she wishes would drown in the darkness of space, just as she is now.
She’s never been one to cry, but now, there are tears everywhere, like raindrops suspended forever in frozen time.
She hovers mere inches above the control panel.
The buttons are there—they’re really just right there.
She knows the commands, the necessary maneuvers to shut the whole system down.
There is nothing, nothing—
Nothing.
She sobs, buries her face in her two palms. The tears come out in globules around her.
There is nothing.
No hope.
Just a lone ship and a few buttons.
There are no longer big things, or small things—this pin is meaningless too—everything is running low, and all she can do is wait and wait and—
There is nothing.
But—
A single blue light…?
Beep.
She inhales sharply, slowly lowering her hands. She turns to the control panel, to the radio.
The LED light flashes blue.
Her eyes widen. She grows still, stares frozen at the blinking light.
A signal—
She releases a breath as she quickly swims towards the radio panel. Her hands move deftly through the controls, changing frequencies, increasing the volume.
But there is nothing—
Except that light.
It blinks a few times, at varying speeds, holding, then flickering, holding, and—
Morse code.
Her thoughts swim frantically. Her eyes dart from side to side—where is it—where is it? The manual—where could it be?
She dives to a panel below the pilot’s seat, practically tears it open before her body even fully reaches it. Inside are a few boxes and a green booklet. She snatches the booklet, flips through it as quickly as she can.
Under a section labeled conveniently as ‘Communication’, there she finds it. A guide on Morse code.
It’s been a while since she’s used it. They’d trained her, sure, but how long ago was that, really?
How long had she been stuck here until that blue light?
She grabs the pen she keeps in her suit and writes.
It holds, flickers, holds—
She diligently writes down each character spelled out. Slowly, meticulously. Until the message is right in front of her.
“The stars are always watching
Like little angels forever in the sky.”
She furrows her brows.
What a peculiar message.
The lights continue flickering even after, and she has to chase after each word, each sentence. It’s hard, but she has to, because there is nothing left but that blue light. When the LED finally stops blinking after a few reiterations, she’s left again in the darkness.
And a message.
“Even if I am alone
In everywhere and nowhere
In tomorrow and yesterday
The stars keep watch over me
Today and
Forevermore.
Poem #3777.”
She stares at the words laid out before her, the words simple, yet its soul… profound, somehow? She’s never been a fan of poetry, really. Sure, she can appreciate a good poem or two, but still, she would never go out of her way to read one, let alone make one.
Now, as she stares at the little words, she giggles. Incessantly. It’s quiet and lonely, and all she has are those words, but she laughs, nonetheless, until the giggles dissolve into quiet sobs, as more tear globules pool around her.
To whoever it is that had probably mistakenly sent it out to outer space, she thanks them.
Now, in the darkness of space, she has the starlight, and a single poem.
--
The blue lights flicker back on five days later.
On and off and on and on and off again and—
She scrambles towards the radio panel, flailing her arms as fast as she can, her notepad already open in front of her. She’d practiced yesterday and the other day and the other, other day—she has to remember. She has to.
It continues flickering.
She grabs the pen suspended in front of her and jots down every word.
“There is beauty in the color of strawberries
As it blooms inside a spider’s husk
As it courses through crisscrossing streams
I can never understand the color of strawberries
Why it had bloomed in a husk
Made of nothing but his dust
Why it had left an everlasting trail
Along a short and innocent tale
Will it bloom in my hands, still?
When time tells me to—“
There is a long pause before the next phrase slowly continues.
“I can never understand the color of strawberries
But there is beauty in its scarlet color
In its sweet taste, in its brief life
Poem #4221.”
The pilot cocks her head to the side, puzzled by today’s poem. She supposes this strange author is fond of them, to have written a poem dedicated to it—or rather, its color?
She misses the taste of strawberries, regardless of the slight sourness to it.
She realizes too that the poem had already jumped by a few hundreds in number—the last poem, or the first, rather, was still 3777.
How peculiar. How many poems could they have tucked away in the little pocket of their mind?
She looks to the radio panel longingly.
If only she could ask.
If only the radio had given feedback.
But there is nothing but that light.
Powered by—
By—
Perhaps, there is a way to ask her.
She turns to the booklet floating mere inches to her left, grabs it easily with her hand. She flips through the pages carefully, recalling something her mechanical instructor had taught her long ago—a trick, of sorts, to tap into oncoming unknown signals via a different medium.
She glances at the LED. Bites her lip.
Perhaps, there is a way.
--
The makeshift capsule glows with an ethereal blue. The fluid inside is viscous, flowing slowly with each turn she makes. She watches it for a moment, scrutinizing the small specks, the currents in its texture. A marvel of science, they’d once called it.
The thing that could send humanity to the future.
Liquid electricity that now powers most of the airships back at home.
She looks to the small panel below the radio, reaching for a clipped wire that sticks out amongst the other knots, and plugs it into a socket on the capsule. She watches the liquid inside pulse, glowing brighter only momentarily.
She sets it inside the space and places the lid back on. Moves up, back to the radio panel, examining the small modifications she’s made. It’s a little sloppy—a heavy contrast, in fact, to the rest of the rather austere board, with all the wires sticking out in wrong places. But it should work as it’s meant to.
Now, all she has to do is wait.
--
Ten days.
Ten days of idle waiting.
She’d been chewing mindlessly, slowly, on a stale piece of flatbread, ignoring the slight twist in her abdomen, running her other hand mindlessly on the small pin stuck to her shirt, when it had happened. The LED flickered blue.
The small piece of sustenance was easily forgotten, thrown into the space behind her and left there to hover as she swims quickly to the panel.
“I stand on one side of the world
While you on the far other—”
The pilot’s hand freezes before it turns the dial. She looks up, staring intently at the LED, heart hammering in her chest.
Did they know?
Are they talking to her?
“In the chessboard of an eternal game
I stand on a white tile
While you on a black one
But once, you had been by my side
Hadn’t you?”
The pilot releases a slow breath, one strangely of relief. It was a little frightening, she supposes, to have someone know she exists here, on the outskirts of humanity. Her hand finds the dial.
“Will you hear me sing to you one final time?”
She inhales deeply. She flips the switch, twists the dial, and clicks on a button in a rhythm.
“I will listen to you.”
The blue light dies down. Bringing along with it the small spark of joy it had brought with its arrival. Her heart hammers in her chest.
She sends another message.
“Are you there?”
She bites her lip hard, tongue running along the dry creases against its surface. The blue light is dead.
“Please come back. I’m here. I’m—”
The blue light flickers on.
“Who is this?” The message reads.
She gasps, pulling herself closer to the panel, eyes blown wide. The radio crackles to life. Beneath the panel, there is an ethereal blue glow, pulsating from within the small gaps of the metal cover.
A strange voice drones through the frequency, a little distorted and inhumane at first.
“Is someone there?”
“I’m here,” she says through the microphone, adjusting the dial ever so slowly, until the channel is cleared from the static. Her other hand clamps around her wrist, trying its hardest to suppress the tremors that have wracked her appendage. “I’ve been listening to your poems for a while now.”
The answer comes a few seconds later. A small, timid voice wavering slightly. Is it a b—a girl?
“How is that possible?”
A girl.
“I don’t know, but I’m a pilot working for NASA. I was on a mission, and due to a machinery malfunction, I ended up stuck in space, and then I received your messages,” the pilot answers through a shaky breath, trying her hardest to maintain the diplomatic tone.
There is a long pause before the radio crackles to life again.
“What was your mission?”
“I’m afraid that’s…” the pilot sinks a little into herself. “…confidential.”
“Why should I believe you then?”
“I—” her breath hitches as she runs her hand through her hair. “I don’t…”
She laughs bitterly.
“I don’t know, really. I don’t know what to—to do… I…” Her grip along the panel’s edges tightens. “There isn’t a protocol for this. I… I don’t know how to make you believe… Though, even if you don’t believe me, then could you at least… finish your poem…?”
There is a pregnant pause that follows her soft words. One that lasts longer than she’d like. Her teeth sink deeper into her lips, the taste of iron blooming in its wake.
The radio crackles back to life.
“You could tell me your name.”
The pilot looks up.
“That shouldn’t be confidential, no?”
“I—” she stares at the radio panel blankly, the question thrumming inside her head repeatedly in a low drone.
Her name.
Her name her name her—
She looks up, her eyes glistening with the starlight beyond the windowpane. A windowpane covered wholly in nonsensical scribbles and Hangul characters.
Her name.
“Kim Dahyun,” she breathes into the microphone. “My name is Kim Dahyun.”
She wets her lips and closes her eyes. She feels a cold wetness slither out from beneath her eyelid, out into the space around her. Her breath shivers.
“Dahyun.”
She laughs a little again. The name feels strange uttered by someone else’s lips—someone physically unreachable, at least.
“I believe you.”
Her fingers curl around the panel’s edges, nails scraping against its surface.
“What’s your name?”
There is another long pause before the voice on the other side answers, her tone hinting at a strange uncertainty.
“My name… I—it’s… C—Ca—” A beat. “It’s… er, I suppose you can call me Chaeyoung.”
“A code name?” Dahyun queries curiously.
“No, it’s… I guess, I go by different names sometimes.”
“Are you a runaway?”
The voice on the other end laughs heartily. “No. Though, I’d like to see how it’s like.”
“What’s with the names then… Chaeyoung?”
“I travel a lot, I guess. I’ve adapted a few names from different languages.”
“Okay—okay,” Dahyun can’t help her smile. “Chaeyoung, can you—can you do me a favor?”
“What is it?”
Dahyun lets go of the panel, lets her arms drift at her sides.
“Will you finish your poem?”
It takes a few moments before the other voice answers again.
“That poem… it’s not yet finished. Truthfully, I don’t know when it will ever be.”
“Then, can you tell me another?”
“Shouldn’t you be more worried about your situation?”
Dahyun hums. “Maybe. But tell me a poem first?”
Another pause. Dahyun’s eyes drift close. The radio crackles back to life.
“Alright. I… I have one.
I know a girl who will forever walk amongst the stars—”
--
Her feet meet the ground for the first time in a month.
It feels strange to walk. It’s a wonder her muscles haven’t atrophied yet after all this time. She twists her foot around an axis, testing it a few times. Jumps, knocking both together.
She clips the small receiver on her belt and winds the microphone around her ear. The small capsule they’re connected to glows blue in her pocket.
“You probably wouldn’t believe it, but my poems—they’re kind of, like, about random everyday things, really.”
“Strawberries and chessboards,” Dahyun quips as she presses the door open.
“I like strawberries, so I wrote a poem about it. And when I’d written that other poem, on that day, I was playing a game of chess with a, uh—an old friend,” There’s a sheepish chuckle. “I wasn’t very good at it. The game went on and on and on.”
“No wonder you have thousands of poems,” Dahyun remarks as she walks down the small crossing corridors towards the storage. She pauses when she passes the intersection, eyeing the ship’s east wing, and the door at the end of that hallway. She hasn’t gone there in months, has she?
“Maybe.”
Dahyun withdraws a small breath. She turns and walks in the other direction.
“Dahyun?”
“Hm?” she answers as she presses a switch on the wall. The doors open before her.
“Is there… really no way for you to… leave…?”
“Not any that I know of,” she says, crouching down beside a few strewn boxes on the floor. A sigh leaves her lips, as she runs her fingers along one of them.
The last of the ration packs.
“I don’t really know what happened, so I can’t really do much. All I know is that the ship wouldn’t move.”
“Even with enough power to last you months?”
“Something’s wrong with the engine, I suppose,” Dahyun tears open a pack of biscuits.
“I… could help you. If you tell me what your mission was, I could probably help you.”
“I want to,” Dahyun says as she takes five pieces of the biscuit, popping one into her mouth. She chews slowly.
“But?”
She swallows thickly, coughing a little as the mush slowly goes down her dry throat. The laugh that follows after is hollow.
“It’d put you in danger if they ever come to find me.”
A heavy silence fills the other end of the line. Dahyun shifts uncomfortably on her feet.
“I have to stay hopeful, don’t I?” she mutters more to herself.
“I s… I guess you’re right. Hope… can be a powerful weapon against despair.”
Dahyun hums satisfactorily to herself.
--
Chaeyoung’s a fun company.
Though her jokes are a little awkward on some occasions and feel old, new, and ahead of her time (seriously, it’s quite amazing), Dahyun laughs nonetheless. She keeps her mind grounded strangely with her musings, about everything and nothing.
It keeps her alive, somehow, and she can’t help but bite back a smile each time the other girl taps into the signal and greets her.
“Dahyunnie!”
Sometimes, it feels like they’ve known each other for most of their lives, when really, it’s only been two weeks.
She tilts her head to the radio panel. “Chaeng.”
“How are you?”
Dahyun chuckles. “I guess I’m fine. Thank—?”
“Hello, fine. I’m dad.”
Dahyun’s face falls.
A loud chortle crackles from the radio. “Isn’t it so dumb? H—People’s jokes can be so ridiculous.”
“Oh god.”
“I’m not God, just so you know.”
“Chaeyoung, I’m turning you off today.”
“You can’t, though.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you love me. You and I both know it.”
“Ah, seriously,” Dahyun squeezes her palms into her eyes. The booklet she’s been perusing floats beside her.
Though she’s trying to groan, a smile still forces its way unto her lips.
--
“Chaeyoung?”
“Hm?”
“Do you believe in God?”
“Yeah. I guess I do.”
Dahyun’s eyes flutter open. She looks to the darkness of the sky before her.
It’s strange. In the few months she’s been stuck here, she’s only now noticed she hasn’t seen the sun yet. Her hand finds the small pin of the spaceship.
“I used to.”
“What happened then?”
Dahyun inhales deeply.
“I stopped believing when He took my whole family from me.”
It’s quiet for a moment, just the low groan of radio static piercing through the hollow atmosphere. Dahyun closes her eyes again. Breathes slowly.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”
“If you want to… talk about it, I’m here. You know that, right?”
“I know,” Dahyun smiles in spite of herself, her chest filling up with something indescribable. “You’re here.”
For some odd reason, she imagines a blank face and a smile.
She wishes she could see Chaeyoung, wherever she is.
“It was graduation day. I thought this job was for me, and then there was an accident on the way home,” Dahyun croaks. Her eyes sting, but she holds it in.
“Then, why are you here?”
Dahyun chuckles drily. “For the same reason everybody goes to bars at 2 AM.”
--
Her fingers tap rhythmically on her lap.
She hums to herself nonsensically. There is a song she’s liked, even back when she was still young. What was that song?
It’s been so long.
“It’s always so quiet on your end,” she remarks.
The radio doesn’t respond at first.
She opens her eyes, looking down at the panel. It crackles to life momentarily.
“It’s always quiet where I am.”
“Impossible. Earth… hasn’t really been quiet over the recent years.”
“I live in a place cut off from the world then,” Chaeyoung says playfully, tittering a little. “Everywhere, I see grass. Flowerbeds of my favorite flowers. Maybe some you may not even recognize.”
“I’ve never been a flower enthusiast.”
“I’m not one myself, but when I have free time, I read on them. It’s interesting.”
“Maybe for you. You’re… er…” Dahyun sighs. “Artsy. I guess.”
“I’m just someone with a lot of free time.”
Dahyun smiles. “Will you play me a song?”
“What’s this all of a sudden?”
“It’s too quiet. I—I miss noise. I miss music.”
“I… I don’t have… anything to play with, right now.”
“Sing me a song then?”
“I’m not much of a singer,” Chaeyoung replies with a short laugh.
“You don’t have to be,” Dahyun laughs. “I just want to hear you sing.”
There’s a pause. Dahyun waits patiently, knowing full well that an answer will come.
It comes in the form of a soft sigh.
“There is one song I like… ‘liked’. I guess.”
Chaeyoung clears her throat.
Then, her soft voice drifts through the radio, just as Dahyun’s eyes flutter shut.
“Even though I’ve walked on other streets
Even when I turn around and come in a distance,
It’s always in its place
No one here would even know that I’m alone
It’s quiet as if it’s someone that didn’t exist
At all”
A tear escapes Dahyun’s eyes.
--
The glass is cold against her fingertips.
Where could that blue dot be, she wonders?
She presses her two palms against it, her face against it, staring out into the darkness of space.
Now that she thinks about it—where is she, really?
Why does it feel so empty here? She sees almost nothing out there. She’s seen almost nothing for the past few months.
How far had the machine taken the ship?
Is she still even in the M—?
“Dahyun?”
The pilot tears her gaze away from the vast expanse of darkness, looking instead to the radio panel.
“Chaeyoung?”
“You’re… What are you doing?”
Dahyun withdraws a breath. She moves away from the glass, settles herself back into the pilot’s seat and buckles herself there. She casts a glance down at the metal cover, watching the dim blue glow. She’ll have to replace it soon.
One last time.
“Stargazing.”
“Are there a lot of them?”
“They’re everywhere,” Dahyun smiles. “Are you okay?”
There is a deep breath on the other end. A few moments pass before the reply.
“I… had to do something hard today.”
“What is it?”
“I… had to end… a friendship,” Chaeyoung croaks.
There is a sniffle. Dahyun shuffles closer.
“I’m sorry. I guess, there are some people you have to cut out of your life to move forward,” Dahyun mutters, recalling a small incident in middle school, one that’s left a bitter taste in her mouth for a while now.
“I don’t know if I’d done the right thing.”
“It’s going to hurt. Losing people close to you will hurt.”
“I don’t know how long I have to keep doing this.”
Dahyun furrows her brows. “What do you m—?”
“Will I lose you too?”
Suddenly, it feels so, so cold. The tears prick at her eyes. They sting, against this cold, cold darkness. She crumples in on herself. Her knuckles are white, gripping tightly to the edges of the panel.
“You won’t,” Dahyun smiles tightly.
How does she look like? How soft will her hand feel on hers?
If only.
--
She’s minutes away from sleep when a thought crosses her mind once again.
“I want to see you,” she breathes out into the cold air. Her cold hands are clasped tightly together.
The answer comes just a few seconds before she’s drifted off to her empty dreams.
“I can see you.”
Dahyun opens her eyes.
“In the stars, splayed out before me, up in the sky. You are one of them.”
She smiles.
“How dramatic.”
“I want to see you too.”
Dahyun shifts in her seat, sinking deeper into the leather. In the corner of the room, a red light flashes. She pays it no mind.
“There is a way for us to see each other.”
“Hit me,” Dahyun chuckles.
“I can draw you, and you can draw me. We’ll tell each other how we look like.”
“Ah, if I did that, you’ll come out looking like an egg. I’m not like you, Chaengcasso.”
Laughter bellows from the other side.
“Then, I’ll be an egg. Or whoever you want me to be.”
“Just Chaeyoung is fine.”
“Please?”
Dahyun pouts, though Chaeyoung wouldn’t be able to see it. She sighs and lifts herself up, taking the notepad she left drifting above her head.
“Alright.”
A small and excited giggle comes from the other side.
--
“I’ve got a small mole… on the corner of my mouth. A bit of an imperfection, I guess.”
“Imperfection? No, you look perfect,” Dahyun laughs, holding the paper up to her face.
Indeed, what she’d ended up drawing was an egg with some sloppily scribbled lines for hair and a face. And of course, a mole on the corner of her mouth.
“I’m glad I’ve made you laugh at my expense.”
“What? No, I’m laughing at my drawing! Chaegg. I’ve made a Chaegg!” she continues chortling. “The only thing I got right is this mole on the corner of your mouth.”
Chaeyoung laughs from the other side, crying continuously, “What is wrong with you?”
They share a few more laughs, though it’s not for any particular reason. Dahyun stares intently at the drawing she’s made. Even if the caricature is a tad ridiculous, at least she’s got some idea how the girl on the other side looks.
Her dear friend.
“Now, will you tell me how you look like?”
Dahyun freezes, wide eyes moving to stare at the panel. Her grip tightens on the piece of paper.
“I… It’s been a while.”
“A while?”
“I haven’t looked at a mirror in a while,” she sighs. “I’m too scared to… see. I must look so… dead now.”
There’s a beat of silence, before the voice comes again. “Sometimes, it’s necessary to reflect on yourself.”
“I’m sure.”
“Will you tell me?”
Dahyun sighs. “Alright.”
She unbuckles herself, lets her body drift upward, before she swims towards the door, bringing the mini receiver with her as she does so.
The toilet’s not too far away, just a room adjacent to the cockpit. Still, her stomach fills with dread as the doors slide open. She’s bathed here countless times, but she’s never once looked at the mirror by the sink. It’s obscured by paper and duct tape.
She sighs once more, before she goes to tear it off.
“Are you okay?”
“For the most part,” Dahyun answers, grunting as she pulls the obstructions off the mirror. It takes some effort. Her muscles have weakened already.
But when she pulls back and sees herself for the first time, her breath is torn out of her lungs.
The image before her is a husk of what she once was, a far cry from the happy twenty-three-year old in the picture in her pocket. Her cheeks have hollowed out. There are dark circles under her eyes. The outlines of her bone line her thin skin.
She grabs the edges of the sink and pulls herself down, bent over it.
“Dahyun?”
She bites back a sob. The image stares back at her angrily, as the tiny globules of tears pool around her. Her breaths are ragged. Her nostrils flare. Her cheeks start to pink.
“Dahyun, are you there?”
“Chaeyoung,” she says through grit teeth. “Do you know why I was sent out to space?”
It is silent on the other end.
“It’s for a covert mission—project, or I don’t know. To explore the planet Jupiter. I knew what I was getting into, the moment they’d put up the notice,” she looks at her reflection, fire burning in her red-rimmed eyes. “I knew what I was doing.
“It was never meant to succeed.”
There is some ruffling on the other end. “Dahyun, what do you mean?”
“It’s not known to the public, of course—but they’d found something. I don’t know how or where, but it’s what powers this ship, besides the main fuel core. It would have taken years to reach Jupiter, you’d know that—but with this new… power source, it would have only taken a day.
“So, they built a machine to harness it. And of course, they’d require a test jump.”
“Dahyun.”
“I volunteered,” Dahyun grins manically at herself. “It was only a year after graduation.”
“Dahyun, why di—”
“They were messing with powers beyond their understanding,” Dahyun breathes out. “I’d known—the second I saw what powered that machine—what’s inside this goddamn ship. It’s why I’m still alive, isn’t it?”
Chaeyoung grows silent.
“I should have died. I should be dead,” she almost screams out. “Why am I alive? Chaeyoung, why am I alive?”
“Why shouldn’t you be?”
Blood mars the edges of the ceramic sink.
“You’re here, and you’re alive. And you will live.”
“How can you know that?” Dahyun screams.
“Because I know a girl—"
“—who will forever walk amongst the stars?” Dahyun finishes despondently.
But Chaeyoung doesn’t agree.
“—who should come home to me.”
Dahyun bites her bottom lip hard. A humorless chuckle escapes her parched lips.
“There is a way.”
“A way?”
“Will you listen to me? There is a way to leave.”
Dahyun looks up.
“If that… thing is still in your ship, then you can leave, and fly to the blue light you’d seen before.”
“How—how would you know this?”
Somehow, she imagines her smiling now, wherever she is—one that’s strangely knowing and mischievous.
“I’m your smart friend, Chaeyoung, after all.”
--
“The reason why you’re here and not in Jupiter by now is because they’d messed up the schematics of your ship in relation with the, uh, power source.”
“Uhuh.”
“So, right now, you’re holding the—er, the red wires, right?”
“Right.”
“I need you to plug those in to dock C99.”
“Alright.”
“Screw it on tight.”
“Yeah?”
“That should be about it.”
Dahyun grips on to the cable that’s connecting her to the ship, pulls herself to stand against the surface. She walks along it, holding tightly onto the cable.
She speaks again after entering the decompression chamber, watching the gas spill around her.
“Will I… really get to leave?”
“Do you trust me?” Chaeyoung queries, her voice strangely calm and leveled.
“I do.”
“Then let’s meet each other, Kim Dahyun.”
“Alright, Chaeyoung.”
She makes her way to the cockpit. The engine glows an ethereal blue.
She sighs as she buckles herself to her seat.
“Will I really get to see you?” She asks a final time, in a soft breath, the handle in her hand now.
“In the greenest field, filled with flowers beyond your imagination.”
Dahyun takes a deep breath.
She pushes the handle.
The lights flash red.
Just one final time.
And everything disappears in a flash.
--
The first thing she sees is blue.
In everything and everywhere.
The blue dot that had once been so unreachable—
Her eyes pool with tears.
It’s right in front of her. This lone planet in everywhere and nowhere. No longer just a blue dot. She could cry right now, but a voice, so familiar, yet strangely unfamiliar now, echoes in her head.
Chaeyoung’s voice had always been unexplainable.
She pushes the throttle.
The blue faces her now, watching her from a cockpit glowing and pulsating bright red.
Just a few more.
In the greenest field—
She grits her teeth and forces the throttle forward.
The ship lurches forward. And everything burns inside.
The screams are drowned by the ship’s loud mechanical groan, as it pierces through the planet’s atmosphere, burning brightly in its rapid descent. The blue’s much closer now, clearing out to the white of clouds, then—
The greenest island, so vast and encompassing everything around her.
She groans as she pulls the throttle back, urging for the ship to stop, just so she can take it in, just so—
In the far distance, she sees a figure in white.
Dahyun inhales sharply.
The ship screeches to a halt, just as it lands violently on the green fields.
--
There is a loud explosion that resonates through the atmosphere with the crash.
The lone girl in white weaves through the tall blades of grass towards the burning ship.
She’s silent as she watches the fire from inside slowly shrink back down, white tendrils snaking around its center—almost as if they were pulling it back.
No doubt it is what she had dreaded it to be.
The glass from the cockpit shatters.
A lone pilot tumbles out into the field, blackened with soot, red from the small cuts and bruises.
Dahyun coughs a few times, dry heaving into the grass beneath her. She feels the wounds around her body, sees the red of the blood that’s soaked her suit.
And then a searing pain as she watches the open wound close up right before her eyes.
The ground beneath crunches with oncoming footsteps.
Dahyun pushes herself up, and meets a girl’s leveled gaze.
Her hair is short and blonde, wavy at its ends. The white dress she’s wearing pools around at her legs. When she walks, it’s almost like she’s drifting.
And there is a mole on the corner of her mouth.
“Chaeyoung—” Dahyun croaks. There are no tears in her eyes. There is nothing—even though she wants nothing more than to cry out.
The girl smiles gently, but her gaze is unreadable.
“It’s you, isn’t it…?” Dahyun rises to her feet, stumbling forward. “It’s you—I—”
For some strange reason, her feet don’t want to move from their spot.
She falls back to her knees.
She feels so, so weak.
“Tell me something,” she chuckles despite herself, reaching her arm forward, as she struggles to lift herself back up again.
The girl doesn’t stop walking.
“Why is it so bright here, when there is no sun in this place?” Dahyun queries.
It sounds stupid to her, but she’s wondered about it ever since she’d pierced through the atmosphere. She hasn’t seen a single sign of a nearby star, yet it’s so bright, as if there actually was daylight.
She pushes forward, ambling towards the approaching girl.
Her legs feel so weak.
Her arms feel much, much thinner than it had before.
“Tell me, Chaeyoung—” Dahyun pleads in desperation, slowly shuffling forward. “Please, I—”
Her knees buckle.
She falls, but a pair of arms catches her.
The strange scent of unfamiliar flowers is stuck to the girl who’s caught her in an embrace.
The girl hugs her tightly, burying her face on her shoulder.
“I’ve always wanted to meet you,” Chaeyoung whispers. In a voice both familiar and so unfamiliar.
Dahyun stares out into the open sky—a shade of blue streaked with flurries of white clouds she’s missed seeing for the longest time. She blinks as the image blurs, as she feels something cold run down her cheek. It’s painful to swallow around a lump in her throat.
Her arms circle around Chaeyoung’s back.
“I wanted to see you,” she croaks, burying her face into the girl’s shoulder. “I was so lonely.”
“You must have been,” Chaeyoung says.
“W—Where are we, Chaeyoung?” Dahyun stares at the vast expanse of green around her, seemingly endless, reaching far beyond the distant horizons. True enough, various foreign and wild flowers litter the fields around her.
“My home. A home away from home—my sanctuary, and my secret place, here in everywhere and nowhere,” the other girl answers softly.
“How peaceful,” Dahyun chuckles softly. “It… really is quiet here.”
Her fingers run along Chaeyoung’s back, where she feels a rough patch of skin along her shoulder blades.
But then, her arms slump at her sides.
She feels so, so weak.
Her breath thins out before her.
Chaeyoung’s hold tightens.
“Will I die, Chaeyoung?” she asks blankly, her voice sounding hollow.
“No,” the girl answers. “You’re home.”
She sniffles. Her cold tears drip down the other girl’s back. “I don’t want to die.”
A strange emptiness fills her entire body. As if she’s missing something, a part of her—as if she’s being hollowed out.
“I’ve seen you now…” she mutters again, her voice quiet. “I see you.”
“I’m here,” Chaeyoung reassures, as she falls to her knees, her hold still tight on Dahyun. “Always.”
“Can I tell you something?” It’s getting colder again, even though they’re bathed in light.
“Hm?”
“I…”
“What is it?”
Dahyun struggles to open her eyes. Everything looks brighter somehow. She feels emptier as the seconds pass.
“I… you—ah,” she inhales deeply, speaking every word through grit teeth. “Thank you… for being there… for being here, with me.”
She closes her eyes.
And breathes slowly.
Slowly.
Slow—
Chaeyoung closes her eyes.
Her hold loosens, and she feels the empty pieces of clothing slip down from her arm to the ground beneath her.
She is alone again in everywhere and nowhere.
In tomorrow and yesterday.
In that empty green field basked in daylight is a lonely girl, her white dress fluttering against the cool breeze that has taken something significant in its currents. In the far distance is a ship that was once burning, now glowing with an ethereal white light pulsating deep within its hold.
She breathes deeply as she faces towards the sky, watches the glowing particles drift upward, until they finally vanish into the darkness beyond.
“Are you happy now?” she breathes out as she stands.
As her foot meets something hard on the ground.
She furrows her brows, lifting the foot back up as she looks down.
Clipped on the black shirt lying on the ground is a small pin of a spaceship. And a few more feet to its side is a crumpled picture.
She picks them both up, scrutinizing them as she turns it around a few more times.
A pained smile streaks across her face.
“See you in my eternal memories, my dear friend.”