Starlight, Falling

 Title: "Starlight, Falling" 

The ship shuddered in the quiet, an uneasy groan that stirred Ben from his bunk. He squinted at the dim blue lights that pulsed down the narrow hallway outside his door, soft as starlight. It reminded him of Earth, of the constellations his mom had shown him through her old telescope, long before the launch. 

Now there was nothing to see through the windows but blackness. Somewhere in that black was Celeste, the new world, still months away. 

He tugged on his shoes, pulled his sweater over his head, and slid out of his tiny room. Down the hall, the ship’s walls hummed, a low, strange vibration that tickled his skin and made his bones ache. 

“Mom?” he whispered, peering into the mess hall. Empty trays sat on tables, some half-filled cups abandoned, water still rippling inside. He reached for a cup, took a sip, and frowned. It tasted metallic, bitter. 

In the corridor, he caught the sharp smell of something burnt. He squinted, spotting a dark smear along the wall near the main control panel. He wasn’t allowed in there—Mom said it was “just for the adults.” But all the adults were missing. 

“Hello?” he called, his voice wavering in the hollow silence. 

The lights flickered. The hum deepened, rattling through the floor. For a brief second, he felt weightless, his feet lifting off the ground before gravity returned and slammed him back down. His stomach twisted. 

Then he heard it—a voice. Thin, crackling, like a signal strained to its edge. 

"Celeste… approach… malfunction…" 

Ben ran toward the sound, skidding to a halt outside the control room door. It was open. Inside, the screens glowed dimly, flickering images of strange shapes, distant planets, endless stars. He reached up, touching one of the buttons, and a voice—mechanical, cold—echoed through the room. 

“Colony Vessel One. Critical failure. Emergency procedures engaged. Estimated arrival: Null.” 

"Null?" he whispered, trying to remember if he'd heard that word before. 

And then he saw them—his mom and the others, caught in a dim freeze on one of the screens, their faces blank, staring. They looked… hollow, drained, their eyes open but lifeless. As he watched, the image faded, fizzling out into static. 

A low hiss began behind him. Ben turned, feeling the chill creep through the hall as the air thinned. The lights blinked, fading one by one. 

The hum of the ship faded to silence. Starlight poured in through the viewports, cold and vast. 

And then, there was nothing at all.