I reach my arm up and point it straight to the sky. You follow the line from my armpit, elbow, wrist, middle finger, and then you join me, perfectly up, as I shoot off, through the air, birds, clouds, sky, a clearing, a frightening height, up up up and up. Pause, silence. You and I are ten million feet in the air.
The circumference of the earth fits in the palm of my hand. I look down at the earth.
"Okay."
I feel blank. I look a little closer at the planet. Obviously I want to get more out of this. You're next to me, so I fill the silence with words I think that you'll think will fit the moment. " Wow. "
The earth's surrounding catches my interest. The setting becomes the main attraction.
"Woah." So black. My legs shake as I realize I am in mid-air. On a rollercoaster, you rise, and for a brief moment you're suspended, until the fall. This time, I'm stuck in that moment, and it's not making sense.
Wait. Wouldn't the machinery be loud? The ship should be filled with sound. I'd be getting air conditioning right? My boyfriend's apartment has an AC unit so loud it hides fart sounds. It keeps the room nice and cold, and we like that, and fart-hiding white noise can be a godsend.
I hear noise. Beeps, the highway of oxygen under control, words from the ship controllers, and flushing sounds. The moment I look at the vastness, I don't hear it anymore.
The view of a suspended earth swallows sound. What does this mean? How should I understand what is—
Wait. There should be another planets somewhere. The sun, too. Where's the sun? I can't find it. I don't see it in this window. I've got to find another view.
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If I put myself in space, what revelations about humanity and earth would I have?