Recycling Earth: First Cycle

The soft morning glow from the bedside window spread across the room like a consuming fire. As it crossed her eyelids, Joan groaned loudly and rolled over, pulling her sheets over her head. Yawning, she lay in bed for a few moments, savouring the warmth of her bedsheets, loathe to put her bare feet on the cold carpet and start another day.

The short, loud blips of her alarm clock provoked another groan. Joan tossed herself out of bed with numerous cracks, wincing as the cold hit her body like tiny daggers. She trudged her way across the carpet, blinking away sleep and rubbing her eyes.

"My stupid idea to put the alarm clock on the other side of the room," she muttered to herself in a voice hoarse with fatigue. Slamming a hand down on the button, she stretched out, her grey singlet rising up on her chest as she inhaled deeply. Her green eyes skimmed her bare room, which contained only her necessities, until she spotted her uniform hanging on the back of her desk chair.

A few moments later, Joan slipped into the shower, letting the water run warm rivulets off her body. She ran a hand through her short blonde hair as the water pounded on her head, running down her neck and off the soft curves of her shoulders. Minutes passed as she washed away the sweat and grime that had accumulated during the night, while her mind planned out her daily routine. Water swirled away like a miniature whirlpool as it traveled down the drain into oblivion.

With a twist, she shut off the taps. A final drop of clear water fell from the showerhead, before making a loud echoing plink as it hit the tiled floor. Joan stepped out, drying herself with a fluffy orange towel from the metal rack above the toilet. Wiping the steamed mirror with a hand, she spent a few minutes attending to her hair and makeup before the mirror began to cloud over again. Sighing, she pulled her one-piece uniform on, zipping it up at the front to the neck, fixing the collar, smoothing out wrinkles, and then ran it over with a lint brush before stepped out the door.

The scent of peach soap followed Joan out of the bathroom, lingering in the air like perfume. Her grey tailor-fit uniform swayed on her slender frame as she packed her handbag for work. She made her bed with care, tucking each corner into the sheets and fluffing her pillow. She stepped around the bed for a moment, pulling the sheets straight, then turned to the window. With a hand, she pulled open the blinds and looked out.

The stars were beautiful today. If she wasn't watching for it, the slow rotation of the station would have missed her completely. Straight ahead, she could see the faint orb of the sun, spots speckling its surface, and the black shadow of Mercury as it passed in front. And far overhead, the rest of the space station hung ominously like a crouching machine, an unnatural creation in the natural world.

Although she tried to look away, Joan's eyes moved of their own accord, picking out the one object she never wanted to be reminded of. A black, misshapen rock, tumbling through the cosmos, scarred and blasted, what anyone would call a wasteland. It moved slowly beneath the station, in an odd orbit, as the sunlight glanced off the numerous craters and wounds. She looked at it in longing and distaste. The awkward motion of the former planet, its deep gouges and odd shape - all reminders of failure, of anger and hatred, of the inability to overcome prejudice and darkness. The failure of humanity.

With a sigh, she turned away from the window. There was work to be done.