Mourning Star

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. That's all I wanted now, to drift quietly into the sound of nothing. I had searched for that abyss here on earth but 2022 had evolved our planet into one giant satellite that could stream a steady kind of tinnitus you could actually feel. There were no more places one could dwell among the mountaintops and contemplate the Now. There was only the perpetual buzz of communications resonating through the Social Registry chip implanted in every citizen's molar. I needed to find fluent silence.

By the end of the year, the pandemic had effectively reduced our global population by only 20 percent. This was a huge miscalculation of means to reach a goal to attain life-to-land proportions like the ideal continent of Africa. Scientists had managed to bloom Africa and it was now the most sought after real estate. The probability of comfortable existence on our depleted soil was endangered enough to rescript the American dream from quantity to quality. The days of hard work, vigilant investments and a subsidized retirement at the age of 75 no longer existed. There just wasn't enough resources to go around. Drastic times called for drastic measures. Citizens were to be given free will to choose life and death on their own terms. Words like abortion and suicide were removed from Search Engines and electronic texts. Words like elective and transcendence were broadened to include an affirmation for one's stewardship of life. It was now considered an act of courage to assist in the subpopulation of our Mother Earth by choosing to surrender your place in the food chain.

The StarLite Corporation offered an innovative solution for one's final departure, a government funded painless flight into space. I enrolled and made the Hometown Heroes Section of the Pensacola News website, right in line with everyone else who chose to leave the living to the living. I would be provided a personal shuttle built for 2, just me and the remains of my husband Mark. The virus took him quickly after he was put on a ventilator. They say I was lucky to be a widow of the 3rd variant because the CDC guidelines relaxed enough to allow me to sit by his side as this gifted virus devoured him. All those infected were mandated for cremation. Spreading of biological remains was now considered an act of domestic terrorism so Mark's wish to be dispersed into the Gulf of Mexico was not an option. Gone were the days of open caskets to facilitate closure and grief. However, if grief was too great for the widow to bear, she could choose to cross that great divide with her soulmate, in a spacecraft.

The process for flight prep was short and simple enough for a child to understand. A good shower and good sleep quality the night before departure, nothing by mouth after midnight except prescribed meds, and empty my bowels and bladder before boarding the StarLite craft. Secure my safety belt but I do not have to stow my package under my seat or in the overhead compartment. Turbulence was to be expected but there would be no need for me to place an oxygen mask over my face. After a brief countdown like the ones I watched on TV when I was a kid, my spacecraft would be launched. Once I was through aerospace traffic, I could choose music or any film from an exhaustive collection of mans' works. I chose silence. It would take exactly 150 minutes for me to reach the point of no return. At this time, I would have the option of entering a code on my control panel. This code would discontinue the pre-programmed flight plan and my decision to return to earth would be honored. If I chose not to enter my code by the specified time, my craft would slowly fill with enough Halothane gas to lull me to a calm euphoric eternal sleep. No one would be there to talk me through it. In 222 days, Mark and I would be incinerated when we reached the sun. There would be no debris floating around in space, no proof of life or death.

I launched at 1 pm central time. It was so quiet. There was zero hum in my mandible because my chip imbedded molar was removed prior to launch. There was no tinnitus. There wasn't even a sound coming from the spacecraft. It was eerie for a moment but then I realized I had Mark in my arms. I wept. I wailed. I cried so hard and screamed so loud that I was afraid the sheer resonating of the craft would cause it to implode. I stopped and there was nothing. I screamed again and again and again and for another moment, I felt myself separate from myself and drift out of space casket heading for death. There was complete silence. I cried the entire 150 minutes. I pushed out slow building guttural bursts. There were explicative accusations hurled toward the heavens, child-like whimpers and angry tantrums and begging and pleading and negotiating and dark despair and finally, as I relaxed into the soft embrace of my chair and pulled Mark closer to my chest, I exhaled. I accepted my decision to let go. I closed my eyes and submitted to the star lit space that silently swallowed up all of my grief. It was 3:33 pm. My 150 minutes were up. I did not enter the code. I went to sleep.

I awoke in a well lit room surrounded by silent monitors and an IV attached to my arm. My mouth felt like I had been sucking on a wad of cotton all night. My head hurt but I immediately noticed it was quiet in this place, just like in the spacecraft.

What is this place? I said aloud. The sound of my own voice startled me as if I had not used my ears in a while.

A man in his mid 40's entered the room. He was dressed in neutral colors, like the room, like me, all soft hued and easy on my eyes.

Good morning Grace. I'm Dr. Hunt. You've been on quite a journey but you are safe now.

Where is this place? Did my craft return to earth? Is this StarLite Corporation? Did I die? I think I said all that out loud but he didn't answer.

Please calm down and let me explain some things. You are on Mars, at Jezero Crater SpaceForce Base. You've been sedated for 3 days and 18 hours. You've travelled 34 million miles from earth. I'm sure you have a lot of questions but I have one very important question for you. Why did you choose to continue on your path to death?

What do you mean? I asked. I chose to go. I chose to be with my husband. I don't understand. Why would StarLite kill all those people who wanted to live and save the ones who wanted to die?

The majority of people that choose to launch end up entering the code to return to earth pretty quickly. However, the StarLite Corporation does not equip the crafts with the ability to return. Those who choose to reverse their decision to depart find out they are on a one-way ticket to the sun with only enough oxygen to sustain life for 150 minutes. Since this program was started, we have been able to obtain a select group of people to be relocated here to Mars. Earth's population is slowly reducing to a more sustainable number. We were fast approaching 8 billion consumers with only enough resources to support 5 billion. That meant one-third of the people had to be removed. The agenda was to remove the vulnerable, the old, the diseased and the mentally ill, prisoners, all those incapable of contributing to a protected self-sustaining functional world. The CDC and the World Health Organization have been working for decades to resolve this imbalance. War, intentional famine, recreational drugs, alcohol, genetically modified diseases and vaccinations, cancer and withheld cures and now StarLite Corporation's space launch program have all been attempts to stop the overpopulation. We have been working towards a more psychologically healthy population. One can learn a great deal about the human mind by observing them in their last 150 minutes of life. In those moments, you get to witness the trinity of mind, body and spirit connect in a way that distills man to his core. You see what the person can and can not be.

What do you want from me, Dr. Hunt? I'm Mourning the death of my husband and I have no clue of what I can or can not be anymore!

We've all heard your Mourning. We all saw you. Now we want you to live, Grace.