Neurotic

Dust and Sand

April 22nd 2027.

The Earth: permanence, love, harm, transience. When nothing works out for anyone, it becomes apart of you - like a small parasite that is apart of a helpless animal, ravaging it from the inside - because no matter what happens, your brain is separate from what you learn. Biology doesn't mix in well with the fact that, yes, you know the psychology of your brain and the science of it, but you cannot stop your brain from dying all by yourself.
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The Moon was silent. Like a soft breeze in the air, and there's no cars coming by. Like a serene ecosystem with diverse stems of nature, wriggling around in the craze of vibrant colours.

Luciano lay still on the tiny bed that NASA built in for the spaceship. It stayed quiet and soft for a long period of time.

. . .

"MR. GONZALES!" The intercom screeched. He jolted upwards from the bed and was obviously exhausted. His lethargic personality when he was asleep, and then awoken, was not particularly the best thing in the world.
He reached for the small radio he kept on his shelf in a hurry. What was it? Whatever it was, it was prominent that it was more important than being peacefully done with your work for that day.

"Yes, yes - I'm here..." Luciano spoke, his eyes already starting to close ever-so-slightly.
"Mr. Gonzales, it has come to our attention that something in your rocket is faulty. You'll have to temporarily stay here for a long while, but do not worry - we will try to send another rocket up for you...in...eight months."
"EIGHT MONTHS?" He repeated, trying to process the fact that he'll be stuck in space.
"Confirmed." The voice spoke. He sighed quietly, not wanting to seem rude.
I guess it's worth it, especially with that dickhead Robyn. He's gonna be jealous when I come back from literal space. He doesn't deserve anything. Plus, I'll probably get more money than he does.
"Fine," he started, "I'll stay here for eight months..." Luciano answered back gravely.

The small radio shut off. He sighed, still shaken up by the suddenness of everything. Being stuck in space was one thing — losing your sense of gravity or the sense of your own self, was that another, he thought.

Luciano, only wearing boxers, socks and a baggy tee, trudged to his mirror. He looked at himself, fixing up his gently-crafted hair, his eyelashes, his skin... yes, the moon did not have water to provide him his needs, but it's obvious where he got it from. Bottles. He had 47 left. It was reasonable to try rationing them, but he knew that they might not last long — in a logical sense, that is.

His mind wandered, staring into the mirror, at his hunter - murky green, dipped in evergreen forest-like colored - eyes. He cursed. He thought that being stuck on the moon was like a metaphor for his loneliness, his spacious but closed-off personality...

"Maldición ... podría volverse loco mientras estoy aquí..."
[Damn ... I might go crazy while I'm here...]

He turned his head towards the small window. Outside, or in the vast space, Luciano found that his eyes admired the dangerous beauty of his unknown poison that would cause soon-to-be harm.

The stars, the beautiful scenery of space – the ambience of it all, it made him quite calm. He tried to dive into this head first, not getting used to the situation. Just go through it. That was his philosophy after all, for an 'intellectual'.