I squeeze my hands till red marks appear as the line dwindles. There are four people in front of me, all waiting to board the hovering ship just across the glass doors. I wonder if they saved up for it, I wonder how long they have worked. Together our dreams will be a reality we will finally get to go.
Aboard the ship, I watch the waves crash. I’m hoping to see a dolphin until I remember that they went extinct five years ago. I never got to swim with one. Or swim at all, the water has been too filled with nuclear waste since I was born. The past is the number one place I wish I could visit. And since I know I never can, I write myself into the world that once was.
I draw myself sitting under trees that I am told used to line the streets. I write poems about hearing the birds sing and dawn and almost believe I can hear their chirps ringing in my ears. But here is where fiction leaves me.
My reflection in the doors frowns at me, telling me of a future that no one had the motivation to nip in the bud. I am the child of questions with no answers, of living in a wasteland that is host to nothing except divine dying. I frown at the never-ending sequence of events that dug out my grave, and I look on gravely as if I had nothing at all to do with it at all.
At any cost, let me know I’m a gift; not a burden, give me a touch of hope in this gilded off sign. I make peace. I forgive myself, my mother, my father from bringing me into this mess.
I pray for the earth to find salvation, for all humans to leave this world with full hearts.
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