2 -

How many times had he come back to that same room just to find everything just as he left it, no speck of dust or coffee stain out of place. After all this time, he still firmly believed that the most difficult part of these long expeditions was getting adjusted to all the small sounds that filled the compound. The lights, the terminals, the ventilation, they all created this deaf buzz that always tickled a corner of his brain. He longed for the instructions to appear on the central terminal, a set of coordinates, an objective, that was all he needed to take his suit, open the hatch and start walking. The deprivation of senses provided by the colorless, soundless wasteland was for him the only way to concentrate fully. These walks where the occasion for him to reflect and contemplate his thoughts.

Growing up, the tumults of life barely brushed him, he lived the normal life a normal boy in a perfectly common town. Yet he had always felt like an external observer, like he had no say in what or how he lived his own life. The only choice that had been truly his was to enroll in that program, a few years back. He had been in his thirties at the time and his scientific education had led him to achieve only minor publications and unimpressive studies. The letter that arrived, promising him a lifetime of benefits and fame in exchange for a few years of service came like a deliverance. This world that had been moving around him didn't interest him much and he had no one left behind to care for him. Weeks had passed before he got a second letter, confirming his admission and inviting him to a preparation program held in a neighboring city on the other side of the country. He did not think twice before jumping in his car and starting to drive.

The leather cushion that topped the stool let out a sigh when he rested his weight on it and grabbed the soda can that was sitting on the counter. The food was not good, dehydrated, powdered, canned, that's all he could have out there, and the comfort of a hearty meal was not something he had expected from such a place anyway. There was something of almost mechanical to his routine, he had realized that this was bound to happen when someone lives isolated. He pondered the fact that we as humans are creatures of habit, craving familiarity in all our actions. He certainly felt that way, entrapped in a cycle of repetition, only able to break from it when outside.

His bed was not comfortable, and he did not look forward to rejoining it. Sleeping was for him akin to foregoing a part of one's life, ceasing to exist for a few hours to keep going. Yet he acknowledged the necessity for it and submitted to that natural limitation with disgruntlement.

He dearly awaited his awakening for his nights were dreamless.