The Arks
by H. Lee Messina
When the last of us boarded, and the doors closed, those who had access to windows on the Arks said the pleas for mercy turned into war.
People clawed at each other to get through the security checkpoints, climbing over cement fencing, lighting fire to the metal detectors. Parents threw their children toward the drawbridge, and left them in the water as we drifted back to depart.
On the Genesis, in third-class, you could hear objects crashing against the exterior. I imagined a Molotov cocktail or two, rocks, maybe some shards of metal. Any object that could go high and fast as we lifted off the water then fired into the sky.
A last hope gone into the oblivion of space. A shuttle of bodies leaving with less cargo room than when we arrived.
This wasn't the plan.
