Number 1: Leaving EarthMature

I am Marianna Von Garia. I don't talk about my past, if I can help it. But when it gets shoved down my throat, I run. I run as far and as fast as I can. Well now it's not so easy, now there's a little one to take care of in a Universe that would sooner slit my throat and leave me for dead. Well I know how it works, so I'll slit their throats first. I'm off to the first planet I can find that isn't Earth and I'll be damned if they try to stop me.

She watched Earth begin to fade away. A grey hunk of half eclipsed rock, splashed with patches of blue here and there, and a spider's web of pale golden light, a thrumming latticework. It didn’t look much alive any more, more like the ashy innards of a cigarette.
                As usual the flash of emotions ran through her. That was the one thing she hated, when the tug of someone else’s feelings left her feeling wrung out as a wet towel. Especially when they took her by surprise, and the hot sting of something that was not quite a headache shot through her head.
                “What is it?” Marianne muttered, as quietly as she could, though she needn’t be. Not with the deafening thrum of the engines to their left.
                Another flash of emotion took hold of her and this time she could place it. It was a sort of longing that went deeper than just leaving home. A nose snuffling in the brush, a rough wet tongue poking the ground, searching for something. Where is it? Where is it? It was a nostalgia for an earth that hadn’t existed for a hundred years or so, of greens and blues so ingrained in their instincts that it felt bizarre to even think it.
                Marianne shifted uncomfortably. She had managed to find a dark patch in the hangar, albeit a small one for the extraction of a Prowler, where metal braces held the engine walls and the hanger ground together. The hanger itself was simply a mess of dull grey metal all around, here and there; metasteel crates and barrels held goods and tools lay strewn about. The only flash of colour was the little chestnut-coloured ball that Marianne had stuffed under her worn, black jacket that was a little too big for her.
                “I get that honey, I do.” She cooed in reply. “But please let me know when you gotta say something first.” She tried to be forceful, but all she could manage was more cooing.
                The vixen licked her hand and Marianne had to grit her teeth to stop from giggling.
                The hiss of the door jolted her into action.
                She wrapped her coat around the fox, thinking intensely of him seeing her, of them dying, of danger and fear. Then she snuggled back into the darkness and waited, breath held.
                The thud of footsteps sounded about the room. Marianna could not tell what he was doing. She wanted to take a peak but she didn’t want to be caught.
                I might regret this, she thought, and opened her coat.
                Marianna crossed her legs and breathed deeply in, and out. In, and out. Her thoughts strayed but she reined them in. After a moment she found it, through the tangled web of thinking, one strong tether that she grasped hold of. It was the next part that was difficult. She let her mind slip away, not quite asleep, but not conscious.

The End

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