DustA Story by zdzd A short "3 Minute Fiction" about a rover on a distant moon. Dust …………………………………………… By Kyle Roe Dust, dust, and more dust. But wait: there’s a rock! Nope, it’s just a lump of dust. Being a space rover is very challenging, as one could expect, but today has been unbearable. You’re edging across the barren, dry moon surface on your small black treads. Being a rover, you’re expected to find something interesting and new. A marvel of science. Your circuits ache to make that discovery. However, all you can find is dust. An endless sea of dust, flowing along like the sands of time. Whisking into the black airless sky, it draws spinning contrails of gray. The dust is endless, and only the sporadic crater of rock brings any change. And yet you are determined to move on. You scrutinize everything you come by hoping to find something unique. But all you find is dust, which you ignore. Why did they have to send you to this boring moon? Every other rover was on some exotic planet, full of alien wildlife and discoveries around every corner. But no! They had you shipped straight to this blasted dust heap. The arrogant scientists were probably having a good laugh over sending you here. “As long as the planet is not blue!” they must have ordered, glad to squander an all-so-important rover on a waterless, dusty rock. They could have
at least sent you with some entertainment. No one expects a rover to care about
amusement. A rover can’t think for itself. A rover never gets bored. A rover
never feels lonely. A rover is never right. Unless we find something of
importance, of course. We are useless annoyances that they need to refuel and
repair. The only time they ever care about us rovers is if we do something that
they find great. Well, guess what; I am
going to find something that I find
to be great. I do not care if they like it or not; it’s my discovery, it’s my
wonder. And I will love it for being mine. The only problem is: you need to find that wonder. You need to make that discovery. However, all you can find is dust. Even on this distant moon, with no form of leisure and no one to keep you company, you still find a way to stay hopeful and sane. The stars are always there for you. Shining and sparkling, they smolder day and night bringing with their light all the company you would ever need. And for leisure? Well you can always race down the dusty craters: giant bowls of marble filled with sugar galore. Today you do not feel like looking towards the heavens, today you do not feel like racing around merrily. Today you have decided that you have had enough with this wretched moon. No longer will you hide your displeasure with optimism. No longer will you be the meaningless rover. You are determined. You have been crawling along for the whole day. Exhausted, jaded, and hopeless, you have made no progress. More dust puffs into the air as you slump to the ground; even rovers need rest. The dust is so gray. Small specks of microscopic minerals, and they are everywhere. Everywhere they dance into the vast night. Dancers of the stars, travelers of all worlds; dust is and always has been everywhere. Then you notice the dancing looks almost alive. The dust does not flow like a wave on a blue ocean; instead, it moves as an artist moves his brush, as a singer sings her notes, as an architect designs his buildings, and as a strategist leads a war. The dust is alive. © 2010 zdzdAuthor's Note
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