MAGNETIC MOON [B. BLAKE]

𝟎𝟐.𝙡𝙪𝙘𝙠 𝙞𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙞𝙘𝙠𝙚𝙙

| 𝟎2 | 𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐈𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐃

❝ Against the lucky, even the gods are powerless.❞
- Publilius Syrus

LAUREL WAS A BIOPHILIAC, GUILTY AS CHARGED.

The trail Laurel had chosen to follow through the forest was as conspicuous as a path treaded in fresh, pale snow. Not that she had ever seen a path of snow. Or snow in general.

It was intriguing to her how often she referenced the wonders of the Ground whilst having absolutely zero knowledge of how they actually looked like. Sure, Laurel had seen a mountain of snow, an aurora borealis or a sea storm through the pages of a book, but even her own experiences on the Ground were impossible to put into pictures and words.

Laurel always knew she had an emotional attachment to the natural world. During her time in space, she had briefly studied eco-psychology, leading her to believe a natural affinity between humans and other forms of life existed. Although her time was spent vastly on the decks of Alpha Station, where her work mostly demanded her to stay, Laurel enjoyed her occasional visits at Farm Station, the closest thing she could get to seeing any green on a spaceship of metal. Many didn't seem to care as much.

She believed the underlying problem was created when the almost-a-century of physical detachment from nature had turned emotional. The problem begun when people started to view Farm Station as simply a set of resources. A scientific project for the survival of the human race. All their hopes and dreams relied on getting to the Ground...when they could have just brought the Ground to the Ark.

Everyone on the Ark saw the Earth as their first rekindling with nature since the Nuclear War, when instead Farm Station was a garden of its own, right under their eyes. Of course, Farm Station's priority wasn't to grow an aesthetic paysage, they had thousands of mouths to feed, that number climbing steadily along the years.

Laurel finally strayed from the path, and moved to lie down in a glorious expanse of grass and flowers, rustling gently in the breeze. Tall lilac flowers, like thousands of tiny bells, tickled her hair and her cheeks, growing until the edge of a rill. Its water was crystal blue, cascading down the gentle rocks, each drop oscillating across the body of water like a symphony of feathers. The tall herbs, unyielding in their aridity were razed from the far hedge of wildflowers to the bed of wild woodland leaves in the shade.

In the words of Thoreau himself, at the same time that we are earnest to explore and learn all things, we require that all things be mysterious and unexplorable, that land and sea be indefinitely wild, unsurveyed and unfathomed by us because unfathomable.

Laurel was very devoted to literature. There wasn't a single book on the Ark that young Laurel Prince had not snatched away to indulge as part of her daily pleasures. She could have easily been the most knowledgeable person on the Ark if not for her tender age. Laurel was always deemed wiser beyond her years, driven by success and particularly eloquent in speech. People always said that Laurel Prince could make a saint out of the devil himself. It was a daring scenario, but in all the ways true. The Chinese girl had a reputation of gold, not only in heart but in soul.

Laurel should have known that gold wouldn't please the Ark forever. Even while the population flourished immensely compared to the previous years thanks to her actions, the Council had an iron grip. No mistakes. No loose ends. Not even from their own turf. Laurel was grateful for the chance she'd gotten, even if the intention had been suicide by the Ground. She had landed and fought for her life to stay alive, but nothing would erase the fact that the Ark wanted her dead.