When We Were Them

My warm hand pressed the cold heart-shaped locket to my chest. This cold metal held the warmth of the only comfort I had left. It is the locket that holds my past, the world I used to know.

When I was little, I could not be seen without a book. I clutched tightly onto the crinkled pages filled with dust and tear stains. I loved escaping into the pages of a different world, an unfamiliar place. The words gave me company. But I didn’t stop to think that I had company. I had people, now...not so much.

I wish I looked up once in a while; to appreciate what was around me. To lay under the falling cherry blossoms with my mom and hold my dad tightly when he gave me a goodnight hug. They say, "stop and smell the roses"–I wish I took that advice. I wish I had never tried to escape. Both then and now. Metaphorically and literally. I wish. I wish. I wish. It’s starting to sound like a fake word, a word that doesn’t exist. Do wishes exist? They're merely thoughts. Aren't they?

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I take it back. I got caught up in my uncontrollable emotions. I know what I’m doing now is my only option. I wouldn't wish it away.

***

I guess I have always been on the run. Whether or not I knew it. Always going from one thing to the next, never sitting still, moving forward, and moving forward fast.

It’s probably time that I tell you what happened. Why I’m running. What I’m escaping from. Maybe you already know.

But It’s not just me, it’s all of us “POTH.”

Place Other Than Here. Sounds pretty cheesy now. Back when we came up with the acronym we thought it was pretty cool. Regardless of the name, POTH is important. It gave us hope and options.

Because...about a decade ago, we started burning.

It was barely noticeable at first. We still had all the seasons. Winter was snowy, but summers were getting hotter and hotter. And then it became spring, summer, and fall. Now? It is always summer.

It’s funny how I used to dream of an endless summer. Long days, short nights, no school, face in pages, a blazing sun, pool parties every day...and best of all, my family would always be happy. We got along the most during summer; me and Charlie. It was something in the air.

Charlie is my older brother, who is absolutely nothing like me. Sure, we share some of the same morals, but he never really acts on them. Me on the other hand? I’m outspoken, loud, tough, and not to toot my own horn, but I’m intelligent. I grew up studying words for fun...of course I’m smart. Not that Charlie is stupid or anything–that’s not what I meant. Sorry, Charlie. Ha. That still makes me chuckle.

I used to tease him around when we were little. Saying, "Sorry, Charlie" over and over and over again just because it was something I heard my grandpa say. I thought it was so funny that an everyday saying had the name of my brother in it. It has always been my job to nag him. Yes, I will admit: I am mostly to blame for our childhood arguments but that's too much to unpack and honestly unnecessary since we’ve come to understand each other as adults.

***

But basically, that is why I started POTH. Me and some of my colleagues from university.

At first, it started as an activist group trying to combat the warming of our planet–hence the name. It was meant to cause fear, to make people take a stand and change before it’s too late. That we don’t have any place other than home, we have no options. Save the one we have.

It worked at the time until it became too real. When we did find a place other than here. After that, we wanted to change the name but it had already stuck. We were now the crazy group of intellectuals who found a sustainable planet to live on. We are POTH. It’s a shame that it doesn’t even work grammatically in a sentence.

After a few years of average activist group kind of stuff, things took a turn for the worst. We had to move quicker than we initially thought. We couldn’t just have an idea to maybe one day go out to space, we had to make it a plan.

The government tried to shut us down, but we had the 1% on our side. The rich. The rich are those who want to be immortalized. They want to be timeless–some even physically. Others, just in their namesake. So, some devoted their entire selves to POTH, some just gave us money and their company's logo slapped on the side of the pods. It's remarkable how the group of people I have hated my whole life becomes the only form of support I will ever get again.

While they jumped towards POTH, the rest of the world was weary...understandably.

And that’s where I’m writing to you from. One of those pods with a massive logo on the side. So much for escaping capitalism.

But when I said we had to move quickly, that was an understatement. We were set to have trial flights in 2 years. We no longer could have trial flights and had no time either.

There was a lot we had to leave behind.

Because our mission was compressed, we didn’t have enough material to build the number of pods we originally wanted to. We didn’t have enough workers needed to build something so quickly. So, we had to cut down our list of survivors.

Lucas, our main engineer, decided to stay back. To continue building. I am not as brave as him, but it gives me some hope for the list. For our families who could not fit. For my parents. I feel like I’ve failed knowing I couldn't bring them. That I left them behind in the flaming city turning red.

At least I’m here with Charlie. I convinced him a few years back to join POTH. He tells me I saved his life, but really, I’m just glad I have someone with me who I can trust. My motives were all selfish from the start.

***

It is unfortunate that I have become who I read about. I am a character in the novel that I clutched onto at a young age. I became them. We are them–the dystopian society that hopes to survive.

Makes me sick to even think about.

My feet are restless sitting here on this obnoxiously long journey, heartbroken over what is gone but guilty with hope.

I turned to what I knew best: words. So that’s why I’m writing this, I guess. To send down this signal of jumbled words and maybe give some answers. Answers to the real survivors. I’m a magician, an escapist at best. Anyone who remains is a true survivor. If there is still life down there, I hope my words will fall into the place where they need it most. To answer their questions of the past, and what is hopefully still out there in the future. Hopefully, we have made it. Hopefully, by the time someone is reading this, my mom and dad escaped and we have reunited as a family lying under the closest thing to a cherry blossom that exists in outer space.

That is what I truly wish.

I know she can’t see this now. Time moves faster on earth. But maybe just maybe my words, copied onto tear-stained pages, will be something to look back on when we are together. And so I write:

Dear Mom,

I want you to know that it’s not your fault. It never was. You couldn’t have stopped it, though I know you think you could. I wish you could be with me now, but I know you wanted me to go. You knew it would be best for my future, that it would all be worth it in the end. That you are the first on Lucas’s new list and you and dad will join us soon.

I hope you’re right. You need to be right.

As of now, you are placed forever in my heart-shaped locket, but at the time that you will be reading this, you’re here. By my side.

So you know that Charlie and I were in the same pod, that we kept each other company. And that I have big plans once we land. That you probably know what those big plans are and I have obviously already achieved them and have a thousand more things in the works.

As much as it hurts to know that time moves faster below me and that I have missed years, talking to us in the future brings me comfort. I know you are tracking our flight and that brings me even more tranquility.

Thank you for pushing me. For indulging in my reading habits. Believing in my ideas and my thoughts. Allowing me the space I needed to grow. For not getting frustrated at me for being too loud. For passing down your locket as I was boarding. Thank you.

Love you to Ventiriol and back,

Val

Oh. And back to the folks I’m actually writing this to: sorry for making this more of a personal anecdote. I made it all about me. I didn’t really elaborate on the state of the world at all. Or what exactly happened. That would take years...but just giving a sliver of information is kind of mean. Here’s what I’ll do, for as long as I’m claustrophobic in this pod, I’ll write in more detail. Like things that would actually be helpful rather than this–how we found Ventiriol, made these pods, and our plan to create sustainable living outside of the planet we called home.

Count this as an introduction. A little meet the author kind of deal that appears before the book. Sounds good?

Good.