Shortstory: Supernova

Supernova is a shortstory I had written for a creative writing course. The original text was in dutch, but here is my own translation. I hope you enjoy it and leave a comment down below.

Supernova

By Pieter de knijf

The stars are a source of confidence. When you are alone they smile Kindly to you, but when you are alone and you know your last moments are passing by they disdainfully stare at you from their unreachable distance. She looks back with desperation and disappointment. With her trembling fingers she caresses the thick, cold glass. Out there, far away, spinning around one of those stars, she had wanted to be. She had wanted to feel the warmth of the light on her skin and feel the safety of firm ground under her feet. Everything that had been promised to her. She wanted to reach the goal that had been given to her when she had opened her eyes.

She turns away from the stars, wrapped in their black satin cloak, there on the other side of the window. Here, on her side of the impenetrable glass, she is surrounded by the desperate flashing of lights and screens. In this metal room, she feels, for the first time, locked in, almost claustrophobic. What was once the center of order, has now turned into a frightening chaos. Like an estranged parental house.

Ever since her waking this is what she has known. The metallic floors and their mechanical gravity, the bleak blue lights and the smell of filtered air. She always trusted the mission, the goal that had been given to her. The ship that was her home would bring her to her destination. A set of coordinates, entered in her stead, were locked on to the location where she would continue the path of her ancestors.  The dream of getting outside, being able to breathe and run freely, was never far from her mind.

But now everything has changed. Now she is deceived. The goal that had been handed to her has become a lie, a detained desire. The ship that is her home, the gift of her ancestors, turns against her. What should have brought her safely to her destination, becomes her undoing. The perfection of her world does contain flaws. Inside the ship, full of tanked air and false hope, she can hear the sound of her demise. The ignition of the engines drowns out the whining of the displays in the control room for only a brief moment, but soon there is no difference between inside and outside, between ship and emptiness. And then all is silent.