You, lost withering length of hide, yearning for some where you belong. It, abandoned ship, drifting among the stars of always night. Surrounded by constellations unfamiliar to life pod navigation systems, this is fortuitous. Up the escape ladder, alighting into the bridge through near darkness, filled as you are with fortitude borne of desperation, armed as you are with one weak bioluminescent torch. All this after you had given up. To send a message through the aether now seems a radical act of hope. The smell here is all sweetness. You could place it if not for knowledge you lack, but you are soon to know though knowing is to what end? Light is a catalyst that demands attention. And so blooms burst forth from switches, buttons, levers, ports, doors, holes, hatches, slits, vents, eyenosemouths. Wonder: who first discovered the efficacy of flowers in driving bodily fluid away? It might be you. Fear not the embarrassment, dear vase; there is, in this corner of uncharted space, no one to see you grow.
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Isana Skeete (none/they) is an ace non-binary Black author based in Florida, USA. Isana’s writing has been published in hex literary, OFIC Magazine and Strange Horizons.