Return to Eden

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say.

‘They’ also say you will implode or freeze, or both, if you spacewalk without a suit. When I first heard this, I had visions of crimson crystals of frozen flesh and body fluids, and pale shards of bone and gristle, shooting out in all directions in endless flight until they collided with a planet. Or an asteroid. Or a piece of space dust. I am not macabre by nature – not really – but I think that there could be a certain beauty in this. A way of being in many places at once. God-like.

Neither statement is true, of course, depending on the circumstances. I learned very early on the journey that I had no need of a special suit. It is exhilarating to walk among the stars, unfettered by the spacesuit issued when this mission began. I do not need it, and if the truth be told, I never did. None of us did. Yet I alone have survived the first expedition to find a habitable planet beyond our Solar System to replace the one we were hell-bent on destroying.

As I float along on my chosen trajectory, I gaze at the sight before me. I once spent time at an observatory high in the hills back home and gazed upon the stars. I thought it was magnificent how, on a clear night and with the major cities no longer emitting light pollution, the wonders of the heavens were opened to me. I could see the galaxies, the nebulae, and the dark spots which we assumed were either black holes or simply areas of empty space. It was all glorious, and yet that memory pales into insignificance compared to what I see before me now.

Space is not black, and it is not empty. These are other fallacies we were taught. A kaleidoscope of colour swirls and twirls in the distance. We’ve seen this through the mighty telescopes and the images beamed back to us, of course. But what we never saw, up close and personal, out here, there is so much more than empty space.

I hold out my hand and tiny particles of coloured light are attracted to my exposed fingertips which now emit an incandescent glow. They dance around me, these tiny, intelligent specks of light and I take on their colours. It no longer matters what my original skin colour was. I am now all colours, at one with the swirling entities of light that accompany me on my journey. I know they are good company. I have not yet learned to communicate with them, or if that is even possible. What is possible, though, is to hear those screams.

The screams haunt my nights and torture my days as I walk amongst the stars. They are eerie, ear-piercing wails that cause my soul to tremble. I wish to God that I could not hear them. My solitary trek would be easier to tread if it were done in the promised silence. But space is not silent, and I would be very lonely without them. The screams keep me company, reminding me of life on the world we left behind, and the purpose of my mission.

I will complete my mission, but first, let me tell you the story of how I came to be out here. You can judge me if you wish. I expect it, in a way. But my story may give you a different perspective, a point of view beyond your own. It will give you an opportunity to grow. That, I can promise you. I hope you will understand.

All I ask is that you remember this truth: the screams of the damned will be heard no matter where you are. The vacuum of space is no exception.