An Untimely Fall, A Necessary Flight

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. We just wanted to help the humans. I don't think they knew. I don't think they knew how wonderful, how horrible they were.

The third planet in the Adraxian galaxy, Earth, determines "space" as "a continuous area or expanse which is free, available, or unoccupied". Two of those were correct. Free? Yes. Available? It's the same question, but yes. Unoccupied? Well, I am writing to you, aren't I?

The expansion arrived on Earth long before humans thought their creations birthed evolution. That expansion is still taking place. In the opening and blinking of an eye, it's all over, and it's only just begun simultaneously. Our ship sits outside Earth, safe, at the edge of this galaxy. We've always been here. We always will be.

Then, there were the dinosaurs. We tried communicating, breaking speech, signs, and emotional habits. When the asteroid hit, our ship was injured, nearly crushing us on its descent to Earth. Meanwhile, that planet was fragmented and cracked wide open; sudden death and seemingly no existence looming. So we waited, for Earth was open ground; believe me, there were competitors. The Beranians, The Court of Serdi, The Flaxamongarians. They all tried. All champions, conquerors, and creatures of calamity. So, not every casual corpse you'll come to find is... human.

Now, If you ever find yourself scared, doubtful of another existence's position, our position... If you find yourself questioning whether we are hostile, consider that your planet has remained yours.

The asteroid field also hit the ozyosis deck of our ship. It was how we harnessed the power to fly. The last power we could ever decipher repaired some of our ship's wreckage, surveyed Earth for any signs of life and took us there. We stood on your planet. It was vacant, decrepit. Nothing but the stink of ash and dead silence across your entire world. Our efforts to save it rendered our operation systems desolate. We'd strayed too far, all traces of our race fading. Admitting defeat again, we turned around, prepared to depart from this universe, but a young boy's ambition changed everything. One day, a long time ago, Seven Year Old Jonathan Sefton is the only boy who questions: "what is above the sky?"

I remember the day we met. I mourn the day he is taken from us.

1995. Seven-year-old Jonathan sits in his cumbersome room, wondering, "what is above the sky?" questioning, "how do I find out?". An atlas is positioned on a small podium on his desk, encompassed in one of his many mechanical devices. See, The atlas never stops spinning. Jonathan walks over towards it, and he spins the globe. An endless rotation, never stopping, never cease. His eyes turn with it. Suddenly, he stops the globes and lands the pin above it, only a plain wall behind it. The little boy smiles a confident smile, admiring his ambition. From downstairs, the calmly raised voice of his mother, Annalise, utters, "Leave the door open, honey!". He responds, "Okay, ma!" full of childish glee. He walks to the window, where his creation's thinly tied makeshift rope lies outside, assembled from a tired bedsheet. Fearlessly, Jonathan spins down it in his momentary fireman glory, jumping at the last second and catching himself.

The space surrounding was a farm, fields, and grassland as far as the eye could see. Well, his eye, at least. That boy would just run and run. His hands would seep through so much grass, tender and smooth across his youthful palm, that ladybugs found fleeting solace; the rays of a hot, orange sun blaze on his face, lifting him up, driving his smile, golden in the sun. It was hot enough that he'd close his eyes, letting the heat press on his face. He'd position himself to look up, knowing every time he was to open his eyes, he'd see the sky, and he would smile like no one else. And then Jonathan would turn around, melancholy meandering on the thought of leaving his mother, an irresistible nature to fly, and a pang of guilt to leave.

He'd do that every day from age 6 to age 18. His mother would watch out the window. She'd smile, reserving the thought she'd have to live with. She knew that the boy's destiny was to leave. She knew no one was watching her in beauty and sadness, yet she still smiled.

Time flew by, and the boy had chosen science to pursue, an honest decision made long ago. He continued in his experiments, both extra and interpersonal, crafting equations beyond his small-town upbringings.

I... remember.

This was my call to arms.

One afternoon in 2003, a thud came from outside my window. I was fifteen years old. A body, flat as a plank of wood, fell flat on its back from above. No sign of struggle. No noise from the roof, or a tree, if that's where he fell. Where could he have fallen from? See, I'd always admit weird if anyone ever asked a word to describe me, but, I was trying to convince myself otherwise. Then again, deep down, I knew what I saw.

That body came from nowhere.

I ran down the stairs, my mother violently crying out for help. I couldn't look away. The body with no head. I couldn't look away. Weirdly, I was... fascinated. There was no blood; that was the worst part. For there was no human injury in the body that fell from the sky. I remember the shake in both our breaths, the chill, the standing hairs on the back of my neck. No amount of denial or delusion could've kept me from joining the dots. This was no accident. I tilted my head up to the skies above, beginning my pursuit.

To think, at every family gathering, relatives rolled their eyes at the prospect of a scientist. "You don't want to get into that now, do you? Maybe you should tackle something simpler, something... homebound", was the typical response I was met with, typically from uncle Charlie. It wasn't my home anymore, and I certainly wasn't bound to it. The number of times I thought of running, the number of times I nearly did, the number of times I should've. Telling them "I wanted to solve problems" didn't seem good enough, but they never really wanted to know what my reasoning was.

Jonathan had thought of running away. He also thought everyone surrounding him was unforgivably slow. The fuelled fire of a young boy's ambition for answers still burns strong in the hearts of millions.

22nd October 2013. It's all a little more minimal now, more adult. Friends are gathered in a circle of partying and prosecco at Jonathan's 18th Birthday. After the spurred glaze of alcohol, booming lights and popping disco, spins and spillages abound in an endless seeming night to remember. But it wasn't so much so for Jonathan. The attendees yell out, in their hazy tumbles and falls, "Jonathan?", "Jonnnnnnathann!", "Oh, Jonny boy!" they all shout and mumble. Jonathan sneaks away down the rope by his bedroom window, now more worn and tethered, with more of a visible jump to landing and getting up again. He's dressed formally, hanging a blazer on his arm, strapped with braces and a slightly undone shirt. He's just about far enough away from the celebrations' semi-organised chaos.

Annalise is sitting on a little bench in their garden. She's been sat there a fair while, sobbing with a tight grasp on a thickly filled photobook rich with pictures of the family. He sits beside her, and the two reflect kind smiles. "Mind if I join you?" he delivers with a recognisable glow in his eyes. His father's. She knew he'd never be happy to know, but she enjoyed the short retrospective of her marriage's pleasant memories. Annalise wipes her eyes and asks, "What about the party?" He replies with an unchanged expression, "What about it?" smug and sincere in his response. She radiates a little giggle.

Michael Sembellos's "Maniac" blasts inside the house.

He leans over to her, joking tenderly, "not exactly my era", hoping to diffuse her distress. The two look up to the sky, such polarisingly varied expressions toward it. Jonathan peeks with fondness and observes beauty, whereas Annalise observes how empty it feels to her, how empty it'll feel without Jonathan around.

She glances at him, supportive. "It's crazy. Brilliant, but crazy. You're mad, you know? I think you're looking for trouble! We can only hope to make it out to the stars. One day, we can only hope to realise someplace else, new, someplace better. I just hope it's beautiful. Beyond my lifetime, though, eh? It's all beyond me, Jonathan."

His doubt had been building since he was a child, and this was the first time he spoke up with confidence, asking, "Do you think I can do it? You believe I can really make it up there?" desperate for someone to root for him.

She looks to him, enough to inflict a little sarcasm in her eyes, "I couldn't stop you from trying".

He nods. Mother knows best.

She continues, anxious, unsure of where to move her hands. She puts her hand on Jonathans'. "I know it's not been easy. I'm proud of you. Look at you now".

In a moment of realisation, Jonathan confesses, "It does scare me. It's the only thing I could ever do with my life; there's nothing else for me, but it does scare me. If I don't make it up there, If I do. I'm gonna do it, but I am... terrified. You'll be okay, won't you?"

She smiles.

Annalise reassures, "You've stayed with me this long. That's been the greatest gift I could've asked for".

He returns, "I'm sorry", unable to look her in the eyes.

She questions, "What for, honey?".

With pent-up guilt, Jonathan starts to well up, his eyes inflating with water. He tells her, "If I do this, you'll... be alone. I don't want you to be alone again."

She comforts, "That's not your concern. I'll be fine. I always am". It's not a whole lie nor a whole truth. "I think it's finally your turn. You've been so patient". After a moment, her guilt of Jonathan's fatherless childhood re-emerges, "D'you remember your daddy's face? You were that young when it all happened". She's been wondering this for a long time, waiting for the right moment, righteous in her approach of not prying him when he was younger.

Remorsefully, he discerns, "No. I can't remember. I gave him up, ma".

"You're an adult now. You have the right to be remorseful, and you'll always be curious. I see it. So, I wanted to take the time to tell you that I won't be remorseful anymore. It's okay if you go looking for him. But don't you ever doubt if you resemble anything of that man for one second of your life. You're nothing like him, and I'll always be proud of that,". She continues sorrowfully. "Somehow, I've been taught that to forgive is soft, in some way. Passive. But it isn't. Forgiveness is hard". She knew that to be true because it was her journey.

With a mother's heartful pain of releasing her son, she concludes, in a timely fashion, "We're a long way from humble beginnings. I can't wait to see what you do next".

We have waited so long for them to reach for us. The people of Earth were so secure there was nothing beyond their oxygen, their gravity. The humans kept us a secret from themselves. Roswell, 1947, wasn't our species, but we were fascinated, convinced we were the only extraterrestrial life-forms in this galaxy. We wanted to see how the humans would react. We were merely... curious.

But now it's up to you. We're under attack, and now we need your race's protection oncemore.

Aeons have passed, and we've remained here and thought we were untouchable. But they've found us, Jonathan.

They're coming.

The Severed Hand is an empire of evil, thought doomed to their destruction long ago, but deep down, I think I've always known they were merely... dormant. I'm going to leave you this to remind you, to warn you. See, I've assimilated your voice, Jonathan. It's how I'm writing this. I've always been reading your notes, your impressive blueprints, and your calculations second to your heart.

All you need is a little push.

I only have moments left; I can feel it, but I won't know you when we meet. We are being attacked in the past, present, and future. So, that's where you'll have to be. And I'm sorry. I'm terribly sorry, because you've been asking a question all your life, and you will find the answer. We still don't understand how this happened, but something went wrong when we scanned your planet. Your concepts of life and death were improperly ingrained into our database, and that database froze permanently. Still, in doing so, the system rose so powerfully in its last instants that it became sentient. Haven't you noticed the rapid temperature increases down on your planet? I'm leaving inspiration in your head.

I'm going to leave you the key to discover space travel.

I must warn you, Jonathan Sefton. The lonely little boy, desperate to comprehend the impossible as an escape and turn back the clocks on the impossible childhood he longs for.

You will find Earth's population of the dead, every single one, every corpse hurtling astray through space.

You saw one once, didn't you?

I've studied your thoughts. Such ambition. Such spite against your father.

Is that why you're doing this?