Event Horizon

Chapter 4

Goodbye, earth.

When I was a kid being carted away to some obscure local attraction for a class sleepover, I'd always count the days 'till I left and packed my bags well in advance. The excitement and longing was often better than the trip itself, though.

I still remember the day- how the soft blue three o'clock sky shone! And how my eyes counted every little vein on the petals of a tabletop rose and my fingers traced the diamond-shaped indents of its glass vase; five years ago were akin to a passing week.

Today, the clouds would drift by, raining tears of a farewell. The rows of marigolds and yarrow still faced the empty street; I thought I'd pay them a last visit before I'd go.

"Your old woman here's gonna miss you," Liesel told me, facing a large machine. It stood at around seven feet tall. Casually, I approached the shape; a simple box, with naught on its structure but a door.

The door gave way to an exact replica of the room she let me sleep in, which was much bigger than the exterior would suggest. There's a lot of disbelief to suspend, but at this point I've come to accept that the wackiest shit simply liked to weave itself into my life.

The machine didn't fall neatly into lines. When I first saw it it would flicker around from end to end; at times, a room would completely fail to materialize. Now, its form settled down. It hasn't been changed in a while.

It was like a little pocket of time inside of the room. A place you'd fantasize about while wasting hours in a place you didn't like, except with all of its life and wonder sucked straight from its mouth, leaving nothing but the soft humming of wires and the yellow hue of the overhead lights. Like a stuffed animal you once loved and talked to, except now that you're older you realize there was never a single thought inside of that stuffed animal's stitched up head.

Clocks stopped stock-still. On a desk was an archaic brick that Liesel claims to be a computer. Beside the brick was a cup of tea, gone cold.

Beyond the window was a life that didn't exist. Sometimes I'd hear a familiar tune among the electrical buzzing, but whatever that song was, I'd have forgotten its name long ago.

Liesel taped some instructions to the desktop, in case I ever hit my head so hard I forget how to tie my shoes:

Always keep the computer plugged in. You shouldn't run out of power as long as you don't forget you've got a working socket in there.

Check in with me. You know how to text.

The camera drone's under this desk, in a labeled box. Control it like you would a toy helicopter.

When you see it, you'll know.

There are two pictures in this desk drawer. To the left is a city, to the right are its remains.

If you need something, it's in the closet. There's everything in the closet, look under the shelves if you can't find something.

Don't forget this sheet of paper.

Remember to sleep. I'll write your dreams for you, but in the case anything goes wrong, manual override's in the terminal app.

I've just loaded my bags into the room. Maybe under a different state of mind I'd much rather have experienced total limb failure than to have ever gone along with top secret plan extraordinaire, but right now I just don't see a future in myself. Sometimes I'd wonder what the machine would look like pared down to its minimum, but it's maybe for the best if I don't question such things, or existence at all.

The door shut with a click and a thud. I can already smell the newspaper headlines coming;
"The tragic tale of Lucifer Doyle, first man to ever die in space alone."