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Tonight I have to hurry home to my father, but my mind is focused on the pain, the exhaustion. No matter how hard I fight, the world keeps closing in on me, on all of us. Will there ever come a day when the grass turns green again? Will there ever be a time when the air is clean?
A woman bumps me and I glare at her, tired and angry. I’m frustrated. I’m worn out. I have to fight through a crowd of sick and dying people to get herbs for my father who is also sick and dying. We all just want to survive another day, but the grim reality is that it probably won’t happen. We’re all running on borrowed time and it’s only a matter of when it runs out.
My father is very sick. He’s in constant pain, but when he finally passes, I don’t know what I’m going to do. He’s the only one I have. He’s the only one who cares about me.
The herbalist gives me the jar and I throw my coins at him before leaving. It’s a long walk home and it’s already dark. We’re not supposed to be outside at night, but I don’t have much of a choice. It’s a three mile walk back to our hut and if I don’t make it, my father’s pain will be so strong he’ll pass out.
Things weren’t always so bad. Despite the world dying, falling apart, resting in ruins, my father and I were happy once, at least a little. He wasn’t always sick. When I was a girl, he would tell me stories of times when Earth was full and lively and fun. He used to make me laugh. We’d make plans for the future that always included escaping Earth, but we never had the money.
And then he got sick.
It’s not that there weren’t options. There were. For nearly 10 years, there were ships bringing people to other planets. Oh, you had to see your soul and maybe a few body parts to afford passage, but there were ways to escape.
Not anymore.
The last ship sailed this morning for Taneyemm, and I wasn’t on it. I couldn’t afford what they were asking. The price for simply getting on the ship is more money than I’ve seen in my lifetime.
And the ticket price didn’t even guarantee you’d get to stay on the planet.
Interplanetary relations are a tricky thing. Not every planet wants humans, even rich ones. Some planets super want humans, or so I’ve heard. It really just depends on where you go, and what you can afford, and which ship you can get on.
The rich people evacuated Earth first, heading to planets full of humans. They basically had their choice of planets to run to. The Martians were especially friendly toward Earthlings and took in more refugees than any other planet. Most of the others were a bit more standoffish, though.
Most of the others didn’t quite know what to do with us.
Taneyemm is one of the worst, but I’d still go there in a heartbeat if it meant getting off Earth. Even if the world doesn’t implode like some predict it will, we’re all going to starve to death pretty soon. There’s no food left.
Reslenoau delivered food for years to Earth, but even with Earthlings fleeing to other planets, there was never enough. Soon they couldn’t keep up with the demand and they quit bringing food altogether.
I try not to think about that.
Right now I have to get home. I move as quickly as my feet will carry me. My leather slippers are old and worn and they don’t do much to protect my feet. No, my skin won’t be torn up from the rocky terrain, but I feel every rock pressing against the soles of my feet.
I feel every sting.
It’s well past midnight when I arrive home and slip inside the tiny hut I share with my father. We built it years ago, long after Mama died, and it’s tiny, but it keeps us warm. It keeps us dry.
“Father,” I say, kneeling beside his bed. It’s only a pallet on top of some crates, but for the most part, it’s fine. His poor body is wracked with fatigue, pain, and sickness. I know sometimes he wishes it would just be over. He’s been sick for a long time and unfortunately, there’s nothing we can do.
There was a doctor in our town, but he left long ago.
I reach for my father, ready to wake him and give him his herbs, but when I touch him, his body is cold and stiff. He rolls as I touch him and I see that I’m too late.
I took too long and he’s gone.
He’s dead.
My father is gone.
For a long time, I just sit next to his bed. I don’t react. I don’t cry. I don’t do anything. I can’t. He was all I had left in the world and he’s gone. He’s gone.
When the tears finally come, the sobs are loud and painful. I cry until I have nothing left, and then I sit there. If only our lives had gone differently. If only he’d been able to make it on a ship. Any ship. Anywhere.
Maybe he would have had a chance.
I don’t know much about medical care on other planets, but I know anything would have been better than this. The pain of losing him is only soothed by the realization that he’s no longer hurting. For months, my father has struggled with even the most basic tasks. The last few weeks have been the hardest.
We both knew there wasn’t much time left.
