Image copyright – Mary Shipman

They are achieving what they predicted.

Read-outs from terrestrial and orbiting monitoring stations reveal a planet at peace, repairing itself while our little satellite communities hurtle round it.

Wake periods every hundred years feel just like regular family mornings, with breakfast and conversation, except we’re all the same age and not related – optimising genetic diversity. We fantasise about our return, our second chance.

Back in my pod, on the cusp of sleep, I’m a child again in my parents’ home, all the paraphernalia of our lives drifting before me in tumultuous disarray. Oblivion envelops me before my tears form.


This is for Friday Fictioneers, where writers contribute 100 word stories in response to a picture prompt. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting this weekly flash fiction event on her blog, Addicted to Purple. You can read all the stories here.