Lagrange Point by Allen Stroud

Author:Allen Stroud
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: science fiction, space opera, military science fiction, fractal series
Publisher: Flame Tree Publishing
Published: 2023-11-06T17:14:26+00:00

* * *

I dream of being on Earth.

For six years, I lived in a flat in Lisbon, Portugal. I took care of my father. He had a degenerative respiratory illness. Basically, his lungs were falling apart. Towards the end it was all he could do to breathe. Every morning, I’d go in to him, almost hoping that I’d find him dead – passed away in his sleep. A little bit of me wanted that, but another little bit hoped he’d get better even when I knew he wouldn’t.

An old man on oxygen, struggling to move or do anything for himself. I had to feed him, wash him, dress him, everything. Your world narrows in situations like that. You stop having ambitions and dreams. You live hour to hour, day to day. The activities become rituals, ones that you repeat, time after time.

Not being able to breathe. I’ve seen that. That’s why it scares me. That’s why it scared me outside.

One morning, I did wake up to find Dad dead. When I saw him, lying motionless on the mattress with all the bedclothes on the floor, I didn’t know how to react. I stared at the body, not seeing him as a person anymore. I thought I was going to feel sad, to grieve or something, but instead, I just felt relieved, and guilty for feeling relieved.

I remember that moment, standing there staring. I’m back there now, looking at the empty shell of a man who used to be my father. It makes me wonder about what being alive is. How is it anything more than the flesh and bone lying on that bed? What is the difference between life and death?

I don’t understand it. No-one does. Sure, we have a frame of reference; your heart beating in your chest. The ability to think, move, speak, listen, touch, taste, see. We use machines to determine our physiological state. In death we are unresponsive, unconnected and vacant, but we make up stories to explain where consciousness goes, where that vital spark exists when it leaves the body. Some of us believe in those stories, with a belief so strong that it influences everything else in our lives.

We try to understand. But we can’t know.

Perhaps that’s what brought me out here after my father died. I went into space, looking for an answer, looking for him, in some sort of heaven out in the darkness.

In the dream, I can see that face perfectly. The weathered skin, grey and white stubble on his cheeks. The gap-toothed mouth, wide open and motionless, watery blue eyes staring out without focus. The wisps of thin white hair on his head, sticking out in all directions. The empty vessel.

Where are you, Dad?

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