it's just a fond farewell [dnf]

*

In the year 2256, the International Space Station launches its first spacecraft in an attempt to relocate the entire population to Mars. It happens on the 1st of November - George's 16th birthday and Clay jokes that it must be his gift from the very universe itself.

George just laughs at that, a bitter taste in his mouth from the knowledge that it's simply impossible to get everyone off Earth before the temperatures reach critical levels and they're all burnt to a crisp.

He doesn't tell Clay that, though, doesn't want to muddle his optimism. Naivety, some might say. He still thinks they'll get on a ship and leave just in time for everything to be okay; everything might be okay, just not in this lifetime.

They continue to eat the cake they had smuggled out of the convenience store. The lady at the checkout barely looked their way. It's the small victories in life.

"We'll be proper big by the time we get to Mars," Clay tells him, frosting at the corners of his lips. He's only thirteen. How big will he possibly get to become?

"Right." George smiles at him.

Clay looks over to where Patches is laying in the shade next to them.

"Do you reckon they'll let us take her, too?"

"I'm sure if you ask nicely enough."

"I can ask nicely enough."

"I know."

"You know everything, George." Clay sighs around the spoon in his mouth. The cake they're eating is chocolate. The frosting is nearly completely melted. "I want to be as smart as you one day."

George laughs at that. If only others perceived him through Clay's gaze. That way he wouldn't be stuck inside this loop of wanting and hating himself for it. He'd reassure himself with the notion that they'll have plenty of time. Except that they won't. George is tired of lying to himself. This life is too short for that.

Maybe in the next one.

Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

*

They launch another one of the rockets into space a year after the first one. The pace they have set is too slow. It becomes increasingly obvious they're not trying to get everyone off Earth in time, just the people who deserve it. Not people like Clay and George. Not orphans with no place to call home except each other and no money to buy themselves a spot on the waitlist that's long enough to be cut in half and still not fit everyone in those fancy rockets.

They should build their own rocket, the two of them. Go and explore space together. It'd be nice. The feeling of the entire universe at the end of your fingertips, ready for you to explore. It would also probably be cooler in space and George wouldn't have to get used to the taste of salt in the form of sweat above his lip at all times. He could sleep soundly, not restlessly like now when the sheets stick to his skin as if trying to prevent him from leaving. He wouldn't have to listen to Clay whimper in his dreams.

*

The worst thing about this isn't the heat. George has learnt to bear it like it's the only thing he's known. It's not that.

It's having to watch the hopeful light in Clay's eyes slowly go out as even more time passes waiting.

He doesn't excitedly laugh and point at the TV when another rocket launch is broadcasted on the only news channel left running. Soon enough there won't be any reporters left to inform them on The International Space Station's advancements. George imagines he can feel the ground rumble and the sky tear in half every time a new spacecraft launches. He can't of course. The space station is at the other end of the country.