On the moon, the sole survivors of a terrestrial plague keep each other company.

But when you have the whole moon to fill, two is a very small number. 

Can they persevere, for the sake of the human race, their lives—and their sanity?

A very short story about the crushing loneliness of depression, and the need for human connection to survive.

CONTENT NOTIFICATION: Strong themes of depression. Off-screen suicide.

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The Claustrophobia of Loneliness/Adam, Be A Star

We sat apart, watching the Earth-rise. I wondered how many people were left down there.

“It’s too crowded,” she said abruptly. “I can’t think in here.”

I looked around our transparent dome, edge to edge a hundred paces, only us inside. “Where will you go?” We’d had this conversation before. We both knew there was nowhere.

“Get rid of the weeds,” she told me instead. “The grass can’t breathe.”

This was new. “What should I do with them?”

“Burn them,” she snarled, then slumped. “Or don’t. Save the oxygen. I don’t care. The rescue ship will come.”

“It will.” I hugged her, and waited for the mood to pass.