Looking Through a Looking Glass
Growing up on Solitude Station, I never knew the feeling of my own bed sheets, the only ones I have are a faint memory of my Crib. Now known as the Boreas Virus, it had ripped through the station before I was born. Everyone left now wear ISO environmental suits. Babies are artificially inseminated into Arto Wombs to incubate. You don’t leave your Crib till the age of 4, where you’re given an ISO suit.
At age 15, my parents killed themselves. They had removed their suits and laid together in bed holding each other, Boreas A mixing with Boreas B creating the slow decent to death. All from a single touch. I understand, they knew what it was like before everyone had glass walls in front of them. I only knew the fabric and metal brackets of my ISO suit.
On my 24th birthday I met Hannah. She had grown up on the other side of the station, moving in with her cousin Talia, a friend of mine. She spoke of her a fair bit and I only knew her in passing. She had black hair that resembled silk. Kind, brown eyes that put the soul at ease and a smile that melted my heart. Throughout the festivities I kept catching myself staring at her. When she caught me I quickly looked away with embarrassment. I heard a giggle from her direction, then a knock on my helmet. Slowly turning she came into view, head tilted with that smile -Now I could see her dimpled cheeks- that froze me like Medusa’s glare. I gesture from her to take a seat with me, and with a lilting sway she sat beside me,
“Have you been enjoying your birthday Soren?” She bubbly asked,
“I have” I responded, “I didn’t expect this many to come, Talia went all out for some reason.”
With empathetic eyes, Hannah spoke “She knows you would have just laid in bed being a sulk if she didn’t,”-giving me a light slap on the shoulder- “I will say though, even being surrounded by everyone, I still feel alone,” her smile fading,
“I get it, something will always be missing,” taking a big gulp from my hydration straw that is filled with beer “But don’t let that smile disappear, It’s the only reason I’m staying”.
Feeling my red face pulsing with heat, I dart my eyes to her and back to the floor waiting. I feel something on my glove, hers.
“Talia thought you’d try something if I came” she giggled,
“Was this a setup?” I inquired,
“No, not at all” she sarcastically replied, “if this didn’t happen, would you ever try?”
Thinking hard about it Soren whispered “probably not.”
2 years later we got married, a small service with only the few remaining people on this side of the station attending. Instead of a ring, a golden cuff is used to signify the marriage. Though beautiful, I couldn’t help but watch Hannah’s lips through my window, wishing I could give her a kiss, a sign of affection before the outbreak. Her gloves squeezed mine tight with excitement, her eyes showing reassurance. She mouthed to me, “I love you, so much.”
Over the last 6 months the death toll has risen dramatically. No one from before the Boreas are alive. The last few couldn’t take the disconnect and the curious among us died wanting to know what simple things like what a pen felt like. Hannah and I have kept to ourselves, we have no hope of children due to the operators of the Arto Wombs passing away. We’ve spent our time reading from the digital library and visiting the now abandoned sectors of Solitude Station.
It’s just us now, we are sitting on the bed watching the stars. Gloves intertwined, and her helmet leaning on mine. I notice a tear running down her cheek. All I want to do is wipe it away, let her know it’s okay. I decompress my suit, twisting the bracket that helps my left glove attach to the rest of the suit. My skin has never felt the air, it is cold and stale. The bed feels fuzzy, her suit is different even though it’s still fabric. What a sensory over load. I place my hand on Hannah’s visor, leaving a print. I’d never see my own finger print, I was sharing something no one but us could ever know. A hiss comes from Hannah’s suit, her right glove chucked on the floor. She places her hand on my visor, then grabs my hand. Her hand is smaller than mine and soft, gentle. We squeeze tight, staring into each other’s eyes, glass on glass as the Boreas Virus takes hold. As my eyes flutter, all I remember, all I focus on is the pulse of Hannah’s fading heart.
