by J.M. Faulkner
Ceiling lights flicker. Our cutlery pauses over our plates.
The ship is dying, and so are we.
It’s coughed out our last, artificial meal for Dad and me; he calls it supper, so I guess it’s The Last Supper.
“Don’t be afraid of the dark, Stella.”
He thinks I’m frightened because I’m twelve-nearly-thirteen, but I’ve given myself to fate.
Nicolai, the ship’s AI, whispered that it favours my chances of rescue because of my age and the speed of intergalactic travel. Nicolai told me there’s backup power for one freezer and grill, and it’s identified one last source of meat.
J.M. Faulkner is a British English teacher living in Prague, Czech Republic—the perfect place to steep himself in the architecture and tumultuous history that fuels his curiosity. Outside of work, you can find him hiking in splendid, Bohemian forests with his beagle.
His works have been published by Liquid Imagination and Havok Publishing