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Jan. 27th, 2008 09:28 pmAll I could hear were the numbers counting down and my pulse pounding in my head.
10
9
8
The countdown, so incredibly slow, and yet knowing that they measured my last moments here, I wanted to make them last forever. I didn't have anything special to leave behind, really. No family to speak of. No close friends. Still, as the seconds ticked by, all I could think about were the things I'd never done. I'd never made it to Mt. Rushmore, and in the moment that seemed incredibly important. How could I have so capriciously given up the chance to have another random tourist snap a picture of me appearing to pick George Washington's nose?
7
6
5
My respirations came a little faster as my mind flooded with second thoughts, third thoughts. What good is making history if you've left no one to reap the benefits? I knew the benefits to others, but in my suddenly selfish mind that seemed insignificant. My heart pounded against my jumpsuit. I knew my name would be as famous as those who had gone before me, who had tread where others only dreamed.
4
3
2
What if something went wrong? What if it was all in vain? My mind quickly replayed the disasters I'd been briefed on before I'd been allowed to sign the release. The names and faces flitted through my mind, but I quelched the thoughts as quickly as possible. The loss to science, to mankind, would be far more of a tragedy than the loss of my meager life. I was terrified. I was excited. I was ready.
1
Go for launch.
Half an hour later, and my slow suicide has begun. You see, I've volunteered for the first manned mission to Saturn. I should reach the ringed planet in around seven years, as I'm following the same route as the Cassini orbiter. I know that I will never again set foot on the planet we call Earth. I shall orbit the sixth planet for the remainder of my days, collecting, recording, and sending back data until I or the equipment fail, and my name will be in history books and on the lips of school children. What is one small life in the face of science, of progress?
It's too late to turn back now.
10
9
8
The countdown, so incredibly slow, and yet knowing that they measured my last moments here, I wanted to make them last forever. I didn't have anything special to leave behind, really. No family to speak of. No close friends. Still, as the seconds ticked by, all I could think about were the things I'd never done. I'd never made it to Mt. Rushmore, and in the moment that seemed incredibly important. How could I have so capriciously given up the chance to have another random tourist snap a picture of me appearing to pick George Washington's nose?
7
6
5
My respirations came a little faster as my mind flooded with second thoughts, third thoughts. What good is making history if you've left no one to reap the benefits? I knew the benefits to others, but in my suddenly selfish mind that seemed insignificant. My heart pounded against my jumpsuit. I knew my name would be as famous as those who had gone before me, who had tread where others only dreamed.
4
3
2
What if something went wrong? What if it was all in vain? My mind quickly replayed the disasters I'd been briefed on before I'd been allowed to sign the release. The names and faces flitted through my mind, but I quelched the thoughts as quickly as possible. The loss to science, to mankind, would be far more of a tragedy than the loss of my meager life. I was terrified. I was excited. I was ready.
1
Go for launch.
Half an hour later, and my slow suicide has begun. You see, I've volunteered for the first manned mission to Saturn. I should reach the ringed planet in around seven years, as I'm following the same route as the Cassini orbiter. I know that I will never again set foot on the planet we call Earth. I shall orbit the sixth planet for the remainder of my days, collecting, recording, and sending back data until I or the equipment fail, and my name will be in history books and on the lips of school children. What is one small life in the face of science, of progress?
It's too late to turn back now.
