The Line Exists

This is the 100th story I’ve written, and it’s about arbitrary milestones.

—–

We were 17 light-years from the Sun, and celebrating New Year.

Sitting in the observation deck with Hayla, we clinked champagne glasses and looked at the stars. So very many. None we’d ever feel the warmth from.

The others think we’re odd, with our party hats and resolutions.

“But we don’t know what day it is on Earth.”

But I can’t help noticing how they fall into ruts they can’t escape, in these metal corridors and metronome days.

Nothing changes.

Me and Hayla, we mark time. It helps.

It doesn’t matter where the line is, see. Just that it exists.