inky black.

At nights, in my free time, I look out of the rear engine’s crosscheck portal. The view is partially obscured by the dim electric blue glow emitted from the back of the ship because, of course it is, the portal was put there so the engineers could have a window out to see exactly that, but more than half of the view is the inky blackness of space speckled with a few bright points of light.

I don’t know what I expect to see out there, and most of the other schmucks working down here are definitely not looking for reminders that they are stuck on a spaceship fleeing a planet to which they can never go back. I want to say that it keeps me grounded, but that makes no sense. It’s the weight of it, I think, the weight of all that inky black that holds me down and keeps me from trying to claw my way out of this place. Seeing it. Feeling it. Space, stars, and the forever nothingness of it all.