Some say that our gracious God will give you only what you can handle, yet at what point do you get down on your knees and just give up?
At what point are you clued-in to the lesson? At what point do you get help? At what point does it all end?
I just want to know why.
For a pleasant while before everything fell apart, any of the other colonists could ask me how I was and I could smile with a curt nod of my head. Things were good. Great, in fact.
Now, things couldn’t be worse. There are just 12 of us left out of the original 300 that landed on Tyrith 4. Communications are gone, and while our holdout is strong, our food supply is slowly dwindling with each passing moon. Each of us eyes the other as we ration, wondering if we all wouldn’t last just a bit longer if some of us weren’t around. This mostly peaceful race have all become murderers in the sacred personal space of our minds.
There are days I’ve found myself approaching the dark void that separates us from the airlock, and as I plunge myself into the absence of light with each final step, something inside of me tells me to wait. This has happened numerous times and the message is the same. “There are bigger things about to happen. Patience.”
As I contemplate my pending and yet delayed sacrifice, my place instead is taken by an older couple, thinned from malnutrition and dehydration. The female walks close to her companion, as his hand guides the small of her back. Once vibrant violet eyes have muddied to grey as they both look onward past the void. I can smell the sweet and sour odors of their youth as they move past, accompanied by the small azure, electric archs transferred from their skin. The tiny shocks upon my fingertips fade as they move toward the door, signifying the last of their energy and a final goodbye.
On our 26th sun cycle, two more of the intimate circle chose to become one with Nasomi. Eight of us still block ours ears at the hiss of the hatch and the high pitched whine of our saturated lungs slowly fading to gurgling breaths and then silence. Two of us do not.
And so it is how we live. No words accompany our prayers to our God. No songs are resung in our most desperate hour. I leave these words for anyone who may find them in the days and years to come, long as they last in the dark coal that scribes them.
My name is Larix and I am sure that today will be the day I annoint myself to the sun. I am tired of waiting for something to happen. I am tired of being patient.