Everyone was watching their tele-vizers or mind-transmitters, anxious to see what the vessel from the Saturn expedition had brought back from its voyage of almost one hundred years. I couldn’t care less. I already knew what was going to happen. It was a tragedy waiting to happen. I knew.
Just about a month before the arrival of the spaceship, I had written a short story for English class. It was titled “The Expedition.” I had spent days pouring my heart into the story. It was about a spaceship that traveled from Earth to Saturn and back again, taking just under one hundred years. The crew, all middle-aged men and women but still alive thanks to their power-packing gene-snacks, were extremely excited about their journey and the things they had discovered. They spent years exploring Saturn’s moons and rings, discovering new forms of life and recording new data. And they had been back in touch for the past month after decades of silence.
I didn’t tell anyone about my story; I wanted it to be a surprise for everyone. But when we heard there was communication with the vessel again, I felt uneasy. Why had I written this just before they got back in touch? It didn’t make sense to me. I had to tell someone. I told my best friend, Ben. He read it over lunch one afternoon at school.
I waited anxiously while Ben read my story. After finishing, he closed the binder and looked up at me, shaking his head.
“You’re such a morbid kid, Soldan,” he said, his face grim. “This is some sick crap.”
“Is it?” I asked, confused. I had been hoping for a more positive response.
“It’s about this spaceship that comes back from Saturn,” Ben sneered. “But when they land, the crew goes out and everyone dies. Their bones crumble to dust in the Earth’s gravity for some unexplained reason. It’s so morbid.” He shook his head again, frowning. “Why’d you write this? You know they’re coming back any day now, huh?”
“I don’t know why,” I admitted, feeling a little embarrassed. “I just wanted to write something… good.”
“Well, you did a great job, but it’s so sad,” Ben said, patting me on the back. “You should stick with happier things.”
I didn’t say anything, but inside I was feeling a bit hurt. I had wanted Ben to like my story.
Coming home, I gave the story to my parents, hoping they would read it and praise me for its qualities. I didn’t have high hopes for it though. They set it aside and kept talking to each other. Business as usual.
That night, I sat at my desk and tried to write another story. One that would make people happy. But everything I tried to write came out sounding silly or childish. I couldn’t do it. So I put down my pen and decided to call it a night.
As soon as I fell asleep, I dreamed about the crew of the Saturn expedition.
They were a bunch of aged men and women in spacesuits. They had spent nearly one hundred years in zero gravity and looked extremely frail. They climbed out of the spaceship one at a time, their faces filled with joy and wonder. They then held hands with each other and stood at the top of the ramp that led out of the ship. They smiled at the crowd and waved.
A man with a white beard and white hair climbed out last. His uniform was different than the others; it had stripes and badges all over it.
“My name is Commander Peregrinus,” he said, waving at the crowd. He had some kind of dry sense of humor and a weary look in his eyes. “I’m the captain of the crew. We’ve spent nearly one hundred years out there and we have a lot to share with you. We’ve discovered new species, recorded new information. We’ve made history. We—”
He stopped speaking abruptly and frowned. The other members of the crew looked at him curiously. He rubbed his arms and shoulders and suddenly began to scream.
“My bones!” he cried. “My bones are breaking! Oh God, they’re breaking!”
The rest of the crew looked down and screamed as well. I literally heard a loud cracking sound and saw the flesh on their bones begin to turn into dust. They tried to run back inside the ship, but it was too late. They collapsed into piles of bone and dust. The last thing Peregrinus blurted out was “We should have stayed in space.”
I woke up anxious and sweating. My alarm was blaring and my clock read six o’clock. I rubbed my eyes and sat up, looking around the room. Everything was normal. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had just had the worst nightmare of my life. I had a headache. It was the exact scenes from my story, only displayed inside my head.
My parents were up early so we could watch the Saturn expedition land on our street’s hovering tele-vizer. My room was already filled with its bright glow from the street, and it made my headache even worse. My mom was sitting on my bed, patting my shoulder. My dad, sister, and brother were in my room, too. All of them were dressed and ready to go.
“Wake up, Soldan,” my mom said, shaking my shoulder. “We’re about to watch the expedition land.”
“Don’t want to,” I said, pulling my pillow over my head. “I’ve seen it before.”
“What do you mean?” my dad asked.
“I had a dream,” I said, keeping my face hidden in my pillow. ”I also wrote a story about it. I don’t want any part of this.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” my mom said, patting my shoulder. “Come watch it anyway. It’ll be fun.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I’ve already seen it.”
“Come on,” my sister said. “It’ll be cool.”
“No.”
“C’mon, Soldan,” my brother said. “Don’t be a sissy.”
“No!”
“Soldan, stop being selfish,” my mom said. “You need to spend time with your family sometimes, and not just write your weird stories and read those trashy books.” She got off the bed and walked to the door.
I threw off my pillow and sat up, looking at my family. They all stared back at me.
“I don’t want to watch it because I don’t want to see a bunch of people die,” I said.
My family looked confused. I couldn’t blame them. I didn’t understand either.
“They’re not going to die, moron,” my brother said, rolling his eyes. “What are you talking about? They’re landing any minute now.”
“Their bones will break and turn to dust,” I said. “I wrote about it, and I saw it in a dream, too.”
My family looked at each other and shrugged.
“Soldan, you need to stop watching those horror movies,” my sister said, shaking her head. “They’re giving you bad dreams.”
“I don’t watch horror movies,” I said. “And my dream wasn’t bad. It was…” I hesitated, searching for the right words. “It was just real.”
“It wasn’t real,” my mom said, walking back over to me. She sat down on the bed again and put her arm around me. “It was just a dream.”
“It was real,” I insisted, pulling away from her. “I don’t want to watch it. And what about the story I wrote? You read it, didn’t you? I just don’t want any part of it.”
“Okay,” she said, standing up. “But if you change your mind, you can join us anytime.”
“Sure,” I said, lying down again. “But I won’t.”
I lay in bed and listened as my family went downstairs to watch the tele-vizer. I wondered if what I had written and seen was really going to happen.
I stayed in bed for two hours. I tried to fall back asleep, but I couldn’t. I kept thinking about the expedition. I re-read my story. I wondered what they had seen on Saturn. I wondered what new species they had discovered. I wondered what Commander Peregrinus looked like in real life.
After two hours of lying in bed, I got tired of thinking about the expedition. So I decided to get up and do something productive.
I got out of bed and got dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. I went downstairs to the living room, looking for something to do. The room was empty. I walked over to the window and looked out.
There were people standing in front of our house, looking up at the tele-vizer screen. They had set up folding chairs and blankets. I wondered why they were watching the expedition on the screen in front of our house instead of on their own mind-sets. I walked over to the screen and looked at it.
The Saturn expedition had landed safely and was just opening up the doors to the ship. I felt a rush of excitement and stepped closer to the screen. I could hear the announcer speaking on the tele-vizer.
“…The crew of the expedition has been exploring Saturn for nearly one hundred years,” the announcer said. “They’ve seen things we can’t imagine. They’ve discovered new life forms, new planets. They’ve made history…”
I felt anxious and looked around. Where were my parents?
Suddenly, the tele-vizer screen went white. A loud screech filled the air. I covered my ears and stepped back, in pain. Everyone else was doing the same thing. Then the tele-vizer screen flickered back to life.
The commander was climbing out of the spaceship. He was an old man with white hair and a white beard. He looked just like I had pictured him. He waved at the crowd and smiled.
“Hello, everyone,” he said. “We’re so, so happy to finally be back on Earth.”
The announcer continued to speak as the crew began to exit the ship. “This is the crew of the Saturn expedition,” he said. “They’ve been traveling for nearly one hundred years. And now, they’re coming home…”
The people standing in front of our house were all watching the screen with big smiles on their faces. They were holding each other’s hands and stupidly waving at the screen. I wanted to close my eyes but just couldn’t.
The commander was still smiling at the crowd. He was waving at them and holding out his hands. They reached out to him, but he suddenly shook his head in panic.
“My bones!” he cried. “They’re breaking!”
I felt a chill run down my spine as the announcer continued to speak.
“The Saturn expedition has landed safely and the crew is exiting the ship,” he said. “They’re waving at the crowd and smiling. This is an historical moment…”
The rest of the crew looked down at their hands and screamed hysterically as well. The announcer’s voice faltered.
“…What’s going on?” the announcer said. “I don’t know what’s going on. Something’s happening. I…”
The rest of the crew continued to scream in agony. The announcer’s voice cut off and the tele-vizer screen cut to a mind-vert for a new strain of happy-carbs. Everyone else was staring at the screen. Some people were trying to look away, and most were crying. I heard a loud crashing sound and turned back to the screen. There was live footage again.
The entire crew had collapsed to the ground. They were piles of bone and dust. I heard someone whisper “Oh my God,” and turned to look at the people standing in front of our house.
They were all staring at the screen. Some were sobbing. I turned away and walked back to the house. My parents were standing in the living room, in shock. My sister and brother were sitting on the floor, staring at our small tele-vizer. I walked over to my parents and stood behind them. They turned and looked at me. Then they grabbed me and hugged me. My brother and sister came over and hugged me as well. We stood in the center of the room, crying and hugging each other.
The Saturn expedition had landed and all the crew members had died. I had somehow known it was going to happen. After everyone else had gone home, my family and I sat in the living room and kept staring at the tele-vizer screen. There was a picture of the commander on it. He had a big smile on his face. Underneath his picture, it said “In memory of the Saturn expedition.”
“Why didn’t they stay in space?” my sister asked, staring at the screen.
“I don’t know,” I said, shaking my head.
“They shouldn’t have come home,” my brother said. “They should have just stayed out there.”
“Why?” my sister asked, frowning.
“They weren’t meant to come back,” my brother said. “They should have stayed on Saturn.”
“But then we would never have seen them again,” my sister said. “We would never have seen the things they had seen.”
“Yeah,” I said. “But they would still be alive. Maybe they should have stayed on Earth in the first place…”
My family nodded and we all fell silent. After a few minutes, my mom turned and looked at me. She had tears in her eyes.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” she asked, shaking her head. “Why didn’t you tell us about your story?”
“I don’t know,” I replied. “I didn’t think you would believe me. And by the way, I did give it to you to read. The other night? Remember?”
“We would have believed you,” my mom said, grabbing me and hugging me. “We always believe you. You’re a special child. You know that, don’t you?”
I nodded and hugged her back.
“But why did they have to die?” my sister asked, staring at the screen and then at me, as if I knew.
“They had to,” my brother said and also looked at me. “It seems… that’s how the story goes.”
I couldn’t really sleep that night. Just dozing off and on for hours. I woke up to the sound of knocking on my bedroom door. I sat up and rubbed my eyes, looking at the clock. It was seven am.
“Who is it?” I asked, swinging my legs over the side of the bed.
“Mom,” my mom said through the door.
“Come in,” I said, rubbing my eyes.
Mom was wearing a robe and had her hair up in a bun. She walked over to my bed and sat down, smiling at me nervously.
“How are you doing?” she asked, rubbing my back.
“I’m okay,” I said, nodding.
My mom nodded back and smiled. “I wanted to talk to you about your story,” she said. “Do you have it?”
I nodded and pointed to my desk. My mom stood up and walked over to it. She opened the top drawer and pulled out my binder. She then read it from beginning to end.
“Now I’ve read your story,” she said. “It is very good. I don’t know what else to say.”
“Thanks,” I said, smiling back.
“I wanted to apologize for not believing you,” my mom said, shaking her head. “We should have believed you.”
“It’s okay,” I said, shrugging. “I didn’t believe myself.”
“Well, we should have,” my mom said, patting my shoulder.
I nodded, feeling happy despite the tragedy.
“Do you want to write another story?” my mom asked. “Maybe something happier this time?”
I shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know yet.”
“Well, whatever you write will be great,” she continued. “Just let us read it before you give it to your teacher. And let’s just keep this binder in your room, OK? No need to talk about this with others, OK?”
I wondered if I or anyone else would ever know what had actually happened. But I didn’t really care now. I had written a story about it. My family believed me. From now on, they always would. I was a special child. That was all that mattered.
© 2024 Carl Abrahamsson
