CH. 67 «Packing Up The Pod»



I tried. I really did try to turn my dreams into reality. It didn’t quite work out, though.

I wanted to spend the rest of my life lounging in the radiance of the lap of luxury; sitting back in the sunlight without a care in the world–paradise and a perfect day never too far away. But you can’t just get that because you want it.

You have to deserve the peace of mind that comes with being a Martian, and so far I’ve hardly done a thing that obliges me to the way I’ve been living. I didn’t work my entire life, sacrificing my soul and personality so that I could retire early to these red sands. I’ve never been victim of a great tragedy or accident that landed me disabled or the recipient of generous quantities of worker’s compensation. I’ve never even bought a lotto ticket.

Also, should it not be apparent, I’ve never made a credit acting on stage or screen. I haven’t been recognized for my artistic abilities in any contest or competition. I’ll probably never make it as a musician without finding a massive following or financial backing. And I never kept a good enough GPA to be eligible for any grants and scholarships that could help me stay on this planet as a student.

So, two years too late, I’m folding my hand and cutting my losses. I always said I’d see the rest of Mars before I left it, but it doesn’t look like that’s even in the cards. I don’t think there’s any chance I’ll take a trip up the coast to see the more astro cities along the way to the cold north. It’s not likely that I could even scrounge up enough credits to go on a trip south, across the boarder, even if I had time to brush up on my Martian. It doesn’t even look like I’ll even get another oportunity to head into the city and see all the lights and sights of Novus Angelicas.

Perhaps, someday soon, I’ll have enough money saved, or enough credits to transfer, or have gained enough notoriety for my artistic endeavors to return. I hope that after I’ve helped my father to rebuild his company, my mother to relocate to a smaller unit, and my little brother to get on the right track of school and work–by doing it myself to set a better example for him–that I can come back within a year or two and resume where I left off. Maybe I’ll just set out to travel the rest of Sol from Earth when that time comes, and return to Mars in a decade or so when I’m ready to settle down. Who knows? I may never come back.

But for now, I’m bailing. Punching out Jumping ship. Quitting this place. Heading home. Throwing in the towel. Regrouping. Running away with my tail tucked firmly between my legs. Giving up the ghost. Fleetly fleeing. Submitting my two-weeks’ notice. Abandoning post. Letting the dream die. Buying my ticket. Taking that ride.

My Pod is Packed.

-K. Lane

CIRCULARCROP-itlom121-chapter-packingupthepod copy

PREV: CH. 66 «But Where To?»

PREV: CH. 66 «But Where To?»


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