Hello! This is a short sci-fi flash fiction piece which I wrote for The Young Writers Initiative’s Summer Camp. It is a little dark, so be prepared for that, and covers the topic of imminent death.
Self-Destruction
Thirty minutes to self-destruction.
It hadn’t always been like that. The message, I mean. Looking over the flickering console, a canvas of electric blues and harsh reds, I gave it a grim smile. The ship, whatever her name was, had wanted the notification to be something fancy, some technical words which I’d understood a few hours ago. Implosion, or ignition, or something of the sort. Now, they were mush. And the ship was going to ‘self-destruct’, whether it liked it or not.
Leaning back in the uncomfortable chair, my eyes roamed to the curved window, looking out on an emptiness which had once inspired such curiosity in me. Not anymore. My fascination with the dark spots on the map, where nothing lay, had been rooted in some childish want to explore and discover. Now, it had a more useful, if morbid, meaning.
No point ruining someone else’s day, ship or life, just to get rid of my own.
Shaking my head, I stood up, staggering a little to the left. The console met me, steadying me as I used one hand to grab onto the smooth, metallic side of it. Buttons quivered beneath my fingers, their plastic casings threatening to slip down and activate the electronics lurking underneath. For all I cared, every button, switch and lever on the ship could do a dance and turn on whatever they wanted. In thirty minutes, they wouldn’t be able to do anything.
CSX-B Explorer. That was her name. It was printed on the top of the holographic sale document, waiting as I signed at the bottom. Then, my name hadn’t mattered, or the scrawl which I used in place of it, only the name of the last ship I would ever own.
I couldn’t take the Fox with me. Couldn’t bear the thought of her last journey being to the middle of nowhere, with her blackened parts eternally floating through the loneliest place in the universe until they were scavenged by some good-for-nothing scrap metal traders.
No, she was safe. CSX-B Explorer would accompany me on this voyage, although I had no doubt that, had she known my intentions, she would have refused. If she could.
How many other ships had been forced to accompany their owners to a fiery death? Probably a few. It must have been a miserable life, flying wherever someone else said to, being shot at if they wished it, never getting a rest or never getting to explore depending on the mood of their owner. Gathering rust in a forgotten hangar, or never being repaired yet being forced to limp forever onwards. Horrible life.
Well, at least CSX-B Explorer would avoid that. I gave her another false grin, stumbling to my chair and kicking a dark bottle across the floor before I slumped down onto the cheap leather. Thirty minutes left. Only thirty minutes, if that–at least I knew when I was going to die. Other people rushed through life and didn’t know death until it hit them in the face, but here I was, gradually welcoming him like a new friend, a new person to share tired conversations and lamentations with. He was there, just outside the window, waiting in the dark. I could see him.
Stretching out my legs, I pushed away from the console, my chair hitting the dark wall of the cramped console-room. Dying in a little metal box in the middle of nowhere. Some way to go out, but it was better than others, I supposed. Slick emotion moistened the corners of my eyes, before it could be wiped away by calloused hands. This was it. Almost.
Twenty minutes to self-destruction.
Oskar Leonard 