Daily Flash Fiction 5/23/22 W/C 297
“The light’s all wrong. The sun’s in the wrong place. The grass is all wrong. The trees don’t look right. The birds don’t sing songs I know. I don’t like this place.”
“You complain too much.” Mike said, then went outside. He likes it here.
I’ve really tried to like my new home, but so far, it’s not working for me. So I get on with daily chores, hoping the routine will take my mind off my complaints.
Mike returns. Going in and out takes time. You just cannot just ‘go outside’. You have to put on and take off all your gear, exit then reenter the home through an airlock. So many steps to sanctuary.
We arrived on this planet about three months ago. We’re part of an advance colony team, assigned to assess the feasibility of humans living here. Earth is no long a viable option. Humans need to go elsewhere if we’re to survive. It had been discussed for decades. Now it’s a necessity.
But there’s grass of a sort, but it’s not green, it’s blue. There are birds, of a sort, but they don’t fly. The trees aren’t green, they grow in a weird sort of way and the leaves have an odd purple color. The light is strange because of the star that’s the sun here. So much that is different from earth.
I really have tried to like this place. They even call it ‘New Earth’. But I cannot even breathe the air here, since it’s carbon dioxide and ammonia.
“Maybe I need to go back home.”
“You can’t go back, Sally. We’ve been over this for months.” Mike took my hands.
“Sorry, I just don’t like it here.” I walked out the door, left my sanctuary, into the ‘New Earth’.