text | un: m.cabrera

[naloxone]

[ turns out? space doesn't give a single fuck about your circadian rhythm. or maybe insomnia is just that attached to her that even the absence of a sun dictating her internal clock doesn't faze it, like an old friend you wish would just forget you already.

one night (?) late into the early hours (???) marta finds herself drifting out of the room she's come to assume will be hers for the indefinite future, passing through stark white walls with all the sterility of a hospital, but none of its familiar chaos.

she's still getting used to the earpiece. still getting used to hearing other people's voices in her head. she doesn't mean to add another in the void, but one of her own thoughts blares out too vividly as she stares out into an actual void: ]

—but where are the stars?

Comments

[naloxone]

When you put it that way, it sounds almost sad.

It's probably not a good idea to hold onto something I agreed to leave behind.

[scarcastically]

I think we're all here because we're holding onto stuff. Not sure how much we agreed to letting go when we came here.

[naloxone]

[ there's no textual way to express the sound she makes where she stands — an inhalation of breath that's pure relief. ]

—I thought it was just me.
Not remembering, I mean. Or — if it even happened?
I know I said yes, but... I don't think I really knew what I was saying yes to.

[ but she had carried on, assuming she was the one at fault for forgetting, somehow. ]

[scarcastically]

You don't remember agreeing?

[naloxone]

I know I agreed to help.
But I don't know what "help" they meant.

[scarcastically]

Help what?

You really don't remember?

[naloxone]

[ maybe it is just her after all. ]

Help... I don't know. Help them.
Whoever told me they could undo my regret.

I was dreaming. I didn't really think any of it was real at the time, so I just — I said yes.

[scarcastically]

Okay, that's a new one. Most people don't offer to help our robotic overlords.

[naloxone]

I thought I would wake up and have a funny story to tell. Even if I hoped it was true—

[ guilt and grief can make you do stupid things, it seems. ]

[scarcastically]

Well, it's definitely a first. Congrats.

[naloxone]

You're laughing at me.

[scarcastically]

Just a little.

[naloxone]

Do our robotic overlords carry rum?

[scarcastically]

There's some in the kitchen.

[naloxone]

Nice of them.

[scarcastically]

They're very helpful that way.

[naloxone]

Right. Pretty sure you don't become an overlord without some charity work under your belt.

[scarcastically]

Or putting in the good PR.

[naloxone]

You didn't seem to get the memo.

[ then again, there's something to be said about being too trusting, marta you idiot. ]

[scarcastically]

I'm only half-american. It helps.

[naloxone]

Does it make you less susceptible?

[scarcastically]

Just a bit.

[naloxone]

I'm an immigrant.

[ it comes out before she can help it, and for a brief second she feels a spike of worry—

but then she remembers she's in space. the rules are a little different here, aren't they? ]

How much hope do I have?

[scarcastically]

Just enough to get by.

But I get the feeling you hold more than that.

[naloxone]

[ there's a pause on her end. ]

I have to.