To Sail Upon a Wayward Sun

September 3, 2023

Backstory

I didn’t “make it” in Iceland and returned to Michigan in July. August wasn’t the best month, I had visited some friends in California and was, in a word, disappointed. With everything that had happened (and some other occurrences in July), I wanted to capture what I saw in the world: emptiness. I didn’t get very far, but the writing was finally up to my standards. I believe I captured the mood well enough, too. Unfortunately, I simply didn’t have it in me to work on the story any more. I also wanted the story to be rich in symbolism. But the blue coat has taken on a different meaning now. It was meant to be central to the story.

I also had some ideas to include poetry in the book. I wrote a poem for the story with the hopes of including it somehow. It is included at the end of the text.

Text

1

I finished work fifteen minutes later than normal. The quota increased ever-so-slowly until a normal work day wasn’t enough. For me, anyway. The others didn’t have such a hard time. Most of them usually finished early. With a sigh, I grabbed my bag and headed home.

The rail wasn’t too busy. It was autumn, and the short days cast a beautifully soft light on the dusty skies. I was almost happy to be late, if only to admire the sights from the rail. Almost. But the faces of the other passengers never failed to force away my joy. All of them, lost in their holos. I imagine them going home to their families. Or maybe they live with friends – I don’t know which is worse. In either case, they return home to the same question: “How was your day?” And they answer the same as each day before: “It was alright.” Such is their life. Such is my life. Though at least I’m spared the question.

I watched the sunlight fade to darkness as we descended into the suburbs. Stop after stop, the rail emptied. One by one, the passengers forced themselves back into reality. I could see their disappointment. When the holos came off, their frowns came back. But such is life. That’s why holos exist, after all.

My stop came – with a frown of my own – and I stepped off onto Station 5. A handful of people stood around in silence, all eyes cast on the ground. I made my way to the elevator and rode to the surface alone. 

Whispers of life greeted me: distant music, the sound of conversation, the whir of drones. I looked up to see the sky slowly fading to night. Down the narrow roads I went, just in time for the streetlights to come on. Arriving at my building, I checked the bulletin.

Water maintenance - L.D. 6-8, no water L.T. 0-20

Rent payments   - L.D. 7, see new strike system

Free couch   - Send number for details

I scoffed seeing the water maintenance. How many times can they work on the water systems in one orbit? And I could imagine what a sorry sight that couch would be. But such is life. Someone will need it.

One last elevator ride, and I made it to my apartment. The city lights stretched far off into the dark horizon. The occasional drone light shone like a star in the night sky. The melancholy atmosphere and the sights of the drones made me think of Lairn. 

“You could just check them out on your holo,” he had said. He wore that challenging look, knowing he was pushing me.

“And spoil the experience?” I replied. “I would rather die having never seen the stars than give up on the idea of seeing them for the first time in reality!”

I missed him and our conversations. Since his death, not one other person had stepped foot in my apartment. Although I had nobody else other than him in the first place. I shook my head and pulled myself out of my reminiscing.

My holo sat on the kitchen counter. I prepared a simple dinner – the same as always – and put on the holo. All the sights and sounds filled my senses. All reaches of humanity, connected by endless streams of who and what. But there was only one thing I was after; I pulled up my bookmarks, opening the schedule for Lyosin. A cursory glance told me everything I needed to know. No events stood out. None ever did. No messages. No news. I took off my holo and ate in peace.

I awoke to the wind howling between the buildings. Faint light filtered through the clouds of stirring dust. I watched the mesmerizing ebb and flow of the particles from my window. Distant clouds formed a menacing dome around the city. Yet each spec of dust brushed against the window helplessly, lifelessly. The morning chime finally woke me fully. It was L.T. 30, time to prepare for my day.

The day felt like a dark day. I put on dark colors, brushed through my morning routine, ate a quick breakfast, and headed out into the drear.

Doors opened and closed all the way to the station, dark figures scrambling for the ‘33 rail. Old and young, big and small. As I rode the elevator beneath the surface, their attire caught my attention. Everyone wore black. For whatever reason, I thought of a pale blue coat I once saw. It must have belonged to a girl, that would explain the lack of color in the city... Color. Why didn’t I ever think of color? And why are we all wearing the same clothes?

The elevator doors opened and everyone filtered out, save one man who was staring at me with the strangest expression.

“You alright?” he asked.

I realized I had been staring at him the entire time. His question brought me back to reality.

“Oh, yes, sorry.” I mumbled, rushing after the crowd.

I took my seat on the ‘33 and tried to keep my thoughts on work. The first thing to come to mind was the quota. One hundred and thirty seven bearings to be checked, prepped, and tested. Each and every day. The man sitting next to me let out a cough. I glanced at him. Where is he headed? What kind of work does he do? I would never know. I could ask, but what’s the point? I’ll never see him again.

I almost smiled at the thought. I could ask. I felt a sense of fear. Why won’t I ask? I glanced at him again. He glanced back at me through his holo. I looked away. I didn’t care about him. Or anyone else on the rail. Even if I did see the same person on the rail, or the city as a whole, I would never recognize them. I could have sat next to this man every day for years. I would really never know.

My thoughts didn’t end. My body exited the rail while I floated behind. I observed my own hands manipulating each bearing. I watched the meticulous motion of my eyes, scanning for imperfections. I watched the day unfold before me while my mind wandered. I cared about Lairn. Lairn cared about me. But how well did I really know him? Not well-enough apparently.

“I’m headed off-world for a bit,” he had told me. “Some family stuff, but I can handle it.”

“You, a Lyosinian, are telling me that you can handle your family?” I joked. “That’s almost as unbelievable as getting off-world!”

He laughed. His smile was sad. “We gotta do what we gotta do sometimes,” he said.

I wanted to ask what that meant, but I thought I knew him. I thought that he must have his reasons for such ambiguity. Nobody pries about family on Lyosin. Nobody asks about feelings either.

His family didn’t come to the funeral. There’s no greater shame on Lyosin than taking one’s own life. We’re all here for the sake of our families. Whether or not we care about one another. I didn’t cry. I wondered if he saw the stars on his trip. He deserved that much.

My eyes checked the time. Seventeen minutes late. At least nobody cared as long as the quota is met. I returned home to the same sights. Beautiful clouds of dust with streaming light. Empty faces awaiting the rail. Empty elevators. Empty streets. Empty apartment. What’s the point? I don’t even know my family.

2

It was dark out. The streetlights seemed dim. They flickered like fire. The dust was gone. The brilliant hues in the vastness above me caught my attention. I stared in awe. People shuffled by, heads turned down, unaware of the magnificence above them. But one person stood out. I saw the color blue out of the corner of my eye. Hesitantly, I pulled my gaze back to the ground. It rested upon that pale blue coat I once had seen. I tried walking towards it. Each step I took warped the streets. Doors came and went, appearing out of nowhere. The street stretched out ever onwards. The person stood at the end. I couldn’t reach.

“Hello?” I called out. The figure turned. It was the man. From the rail.

“What do you want?” he called back.

“Who are you?” I asked. For the single moment I stood still, the street grew unfathomably long. Whatever his answer, I was too far to hear. He stood in his speck of color – like a star ever out of reach.

I woke to the morning chime. My heart was racing. I immediately looked up to the sky out the window. Clouds of dust circled the city. Relief and disappointment came over me simultaneously. I watched for a minute, thinking of that blue coat. Then I thought of the man. Who was he? He could be my boss, and I wouldn’t even know.

The thought of that, of knowing nothing about that man, turned my feelings to sadness. As I looked out over the dimly lit city, the fact that I didn’t know a single other person finally sank in. After ten years of living in the same place and working the same job, I only ever knew Lairn. And I only met him because he caught me watching the clouds after my first ever work shift. He asked what was so interesting. I told him it was like watching a painting being crafted in the sky. He laughed and offered to show me an actual painting.

Poem

I sail upon this wayward sun, I do not know where I shall go. Life to me as it was given, I must follow ebb and flow. To not get lost, spend life unliving, a life that I may never know.

For I sail upon this wayward sun, afloat in a sea of stars. Each little light, another's fight, their day becomes my night.

Who am I without a land? I drift through life without a hand. I was born upon this ship. Yet I agreed not to this trip.

To sail upon a wayward sun is to know that life has yet begun. There is no action yet undone. There is no place for us to run. This is life as it was given. Sailing upon a wayward sun.

Must we turn to other skies? Give hope to life before it dies? What other stars are there to sail? What other plans have we to fail? If this is life as it was given, to sail our ship, we must be driven.

With wayward suns, the skies are vast. No star escapes humanity's grasp. So why am I here all alone? No place of mine to call a home? Desolate places, sorrowful faces, everything which I must bemoan.

We sail upon a wayward sun, our lives spent dreaming of other stars. But if you choose to take my hand, we can choose to make it ours, to stand united in our scars. To sail this ship that we were given.