The Void

Sergey stares unblinking at the ghostly figure hovering outside the spaceship’s porthole. A frustrated expression creases the woman’s translucent face. She gestures again: pick up. For some unknowable reason, Sergey’s thoughts drift into the past, to a time before he set sail — he sees a child, wise

Sergey awakens in a strange place. Conflicting smells of smoke and petrichor saturate his nostrils. He looks up at a giant spire, the creation of some ancient civilization. Beside him drifts the ghostly woman he saw in The Void. Are you okay? She seems to say, without speaking. Sergey merely

“I’ll do better in the morning.” The mantra sounds out over and over, simple and harmless, yet with the undercurrent of a desperate wish. Sergey stares, unblinking, at the white-slick pristine ceiling. Mornings mean little in this place. It’s been three hundred eighty-five standard days in The Void.

In my travels through the Void I came across four humans on an interstellar craft. They spoke thus: 1: How smart we are to be able to move through the void. 2: We do not move through the void. The void passes by us. 3: Nay, motion is relative. Our

I’ve been gone for a time, fellow travelers, wandering the aether. From irrational beginnings, we take our first steps into strange worlds. Pieces of ourselves can be found strewn about. We struggle for meaning. The journey continues… Meaning is a marathon. It is nurtured, found in fragments not wholes.