Remembering When the Sun Went Out

There's another empty booklet waiting for me on the desk, must be close to three years now. The first one was here when I appeared in this room, just a few days after the sun went out. The second was waiting on the desk after the three-hundred and sixtieth time the lights in my room went out. I can't remember what day or time it is, but I remember seeing the sun getting drawn into the dot and how quickly everything became cold. I wonder where my mom and dad are, I hope they were taken up too. Wish the voice wasn't so loud and demanding. The commands are beyond old and annoying. “HOW ABOUT TELLING ME WHY YOU TOOK ME FROM MY FAMILY!”

WAKE UP

“The lights are on, duh!”

EAT

“This isn't food!” I miss mom's cooking.

SLEEP

“WHAT ARE YOU? WHY DID YOU TAKE US?”

An electronic, foreboding tone blares out from the only lighted wall, seemingly from thin air WRITE!

“ABOUT WHAT?!” Always the same, nothing. The voice never answers back, but no writing equals no slop; as much as I hate the texture and taste, it fills me up. Angrily, Scheherazade sits, listens to reactions through the vents from the connecting rooms surrounding her and begins.

I wish I had a picture of my mom; there's only a picture of dad and me inside her locket, the heart shaped one Dad and I picked out together. She was wearing it the day you took me into the sky. I barely remember the look on her face as I was pulled out of her arms and into the air by an unseen force. I won't forget her scream as the silver chain holding the locket to her neck snapped; locket in hand as I materialized in this room. I hate you for taking me. Did you take mom and dad too? I hope someday to make you scream like my mom did! You need to tell me if you took them. Why did you destroy Earth, the Sun, and all the other planets? Did you take all of us? Are you God? You didn't have to do it! Everyone on the planet came together after you took Jupiter. Did everyone see the stream of crumbled Earth being drawn toward whatever you call this ship? Why don't you make the outer wall transparent again; afraid we might see where you are taking us? Before you took me, Dad wouldn't shut up about how this was humanity's moment. I guess you proved him wrong. When will you answer me?

Taking a break from writing, she listens to the old guy in the room above her. She knows he's old because he always talks about his grandkids in-between the sobbing and the yelling. I wish he would tell me his name; names still matter, I don't care what you say.

“Hey Sher”, a boy's voice comes from the vent nearest her desk. “Did you get a new booklet?”

“Yes Max!”

“Are you going to ask your questions again?”

She rolls her eyes, “Already wrote them down Max.” You ask too many questions.

“What should I write about Sher?”

“I don't care! Use that insane memory of yours and write about comic books or something."

Sheepishly he responds, “Sorry Sher, I'll stop bothering you.”

With an empathetic sigh she explains, “No Max, you're not bothering me. I'm just not up to giving you any ideas right now, okay?”

“I get it Sher, maybe after we get some slop then? If you hear from Celly, let her know I said hi.”

“Okay Max, I’ll tell her.”

Celly’s room is opposite Scheherazade’s desk. Despite being confined to three by three meter rooms adjacent to each other, the trio felt a sense of uniqueness after learning each of them shared the same birth date. Until last year when Celly, out of boredom, began a game like telephone. Through the vents, from right to left, everyone passed on their birthdates and counted themselves sequentially. The lights went out twenty-six times before it got back around to Celly. To Celly's and Scheherazade's surprise, everyone was born the same year and Scheherazade was number 2,435,156. They couldn't believe so many could be born the same year, until Max told them about when his little brother was born and the internet search he did; 140 million babies every year. Instantly, Max's statement had washed away Scheherazade's hope to ever see her parents or anyone else she knew before the Sun went out. As the light from the center of the ship dimmed, despite Max's revelation, Scheherazade decided to keep her loss of hope to herself. The points of light that looked like stars after the main light went completely off took on a deeper meaning. Each light, in their uniform rows and columns; represented a room. She knew the lights directly across from her, on the same level, had someone her age inside. The row above someone probably the same age as the sad old man above her. However, the row below her was a mystery. The rooms were lit up with red lights and no sound came from the vent in the floor. Each time the main light cycled off, Scheherazade would think of the immense size of the prison that she and her friends are trapped in.

Now she pondered upon her remaining feelings after her hope vanished. There was no emptiness, just an ever-growing anger and disdain towards her unknown captors. They were completely absent, except the obnoxiously loud and commanding electronic voice that never answered back. The daily cycle ended the same every time. Just before a jarring electronic command blared through the room, a thought ran across her mind under the dimming room lights. Close to lights out now, if I was back home I might think those points of light were beautiful. Home. . . it's just a dream now, Earth is gone!

This cycle ends differently. . .

SLEEP!

In complete darkness, Scheherazade stepped towards the outer wall to climb into bed. As her eyes adjusted, she could make out a faint, red beam of light emerging from the vent in the floor. Instead of the bed, she laid down on the cold, glass like floor near the beam and could hear scratching.

"Hello? Who's there?" all Scheherazade heard in response was, more scratching and a faint:

"Shhhh!"