Cameron Adams

Excerpts from the Void

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. Science doesn’t allow it. A scream needs an atmosphere to travel, a sea of invisible particles to carry it from the physically pained to the mentally scarred. Space lacks that atmosphere, that conduit needed for verbal communication between two conscious beings. It’s nothing more than a vacuum: cold, empty and devoid of substance. And yet some of you reading this might choose to disagree with my definition of space. You might try and tell me that planets, stars and countless other heavenly creations are within the all-encompassing body that we refer to as space, providing wonder and amazement to the few that are lucky enough to set eyes on them. But when you’ve been out here for as long as I’ve been, locked away in the most advanced prison that humanity has ever designed, sailing across the black, unerring void with the same monotonous faces for company and the same tiny specks on the horizon — specks that after months of approach seem just as infinitesimal as the first time you set your eyes on them — I would have to disagree.