Solitude has long been the subject of misunderstanding. Humans crave for their precious moments of silence. Humanity though requires conversation and companionship to progress throughout all of time. Many would say that in my condition, as they call it, I am trapped in solitude. That having only the comfort of precisely three hundred and seventy-nine people for one thousand days means I am cut off. That having more days than human beings to fill them with is torture.

I must beg to disagree.

    The bulky doors of the vessel lower. The ship was attached moments ago to a tunnel in order to allow the passengers to breathe properly as they disembark. The tunnel appears to be made of nothing more than flaps of clear vinyl, and that if the situation should arise, would blow away in the wind. The clearness of the material permits me to gaze over the reddish landscape that is to be my new home. In the distance the ground arches upward, nuzzling the butterscotch hued sky. Lastly, I turn my attention to the dome at the other end of the tunnel, my eyes having rather focused on a creation God made over a man-made one. Trapped on the space vessel provided plenty of opportunity to become blasé. My wandering and weary mind and body thirsted for the aesthetics of God's designs. The contraption before me appears to be more of an upside down terrarium than a home; the Vivarium, as it has so been named.

My parents at my sides guide me down the steps of the ship and into the tunnel. There's a chill in here. My boots crunch the sand of this new planet, and I fathom my new reality.

    My parents took the opportunity of colonizing a planet with much enthusiasm, and as I am their daughter, delivered the same sentence of fate on me as they had done to themselves.

    At the end we step over the threshold and into the Vivarium. We may be on a new world and yet staring at the rows of houses there is nothing unique about any of them. Each house bears the same façade as its neighbor—green one-story homes with a band of blue to decorate it. The streets are the red clay my shoes have already grown accustomed to treading upon. The temperature inside is more agreeable than that of the tunnel, and the oxygen is similar to what my lungs adjusted to on the ship. A few buildings are larger than the rest, and at the other end of the Vivarium, fields sprout green vegetation.

    Once we check in with the HAV department we find our way to our home. Inside I find how simple our situation is; two bedrooms; a small kitchen; a table; and a single bathroom.

Inside the confines of my room, I sink down on my new bed and stare out the window at the passengers venturing into their new homes. I should have been in this very spot months ago. Three hundred and seventy-four days they told us. But we arrived at the Red Planet only to be told they weren't ready for us. So we were forced to orbit the planet again and again until day one thousand.

    A man with a close trimmed beard passes awfully close by my window. A moment later a knock comes from the door. I stand, but I do not take a step forward. Instead I listen to the footfalls, the sound of the door opening, and my parents' and a man's voice. They discuss me.

    "Is your daughter present, a Miss Johanna Hale?" the man asks. The footsteps renew, and the man from outside appears in my doorway. "Miss Hale?"

    "I am she."

    He steps into my room. "Forgive the intrusion. It happens there was a mistake made when you were checking in. Your marriage consent papers weren't collected."

    I glance at the bag on my bed. "I have them right here." I withdraw the documents that legally bind me to find a husband in order that I continue the colonization process. Another decision my parents made for me by sharing with me this destiny. I would much rather marry because I wish it and not because I am some experiment. With a flex of an arm, I hand over my fate.

****

After three hours of endeavoring to fall asleep, my weary body concedes to my active mind. I push myself out of bed, my nightgown brushing my toes. On my way out the bedroom door, I slip over my arms my peignoir. I ignore shoes, and silently make my way out of the house and onto the street.

    I navigate the darkened Vivarium to the building I studied on a map earlier. My toes crunch into the sand, and I breathe in the artificial oxygen.

    On the subject of solitude, I must confess I am not one of those who reap energy from others. Rather they drain it from me. Although there are far, far less people inside this dome than on Earth, I am still trapped in here by glass walls never to escape to solitude.

    I stop in front of the planetarium and pull the door open. I ascend the stairs until I reach the sky parlor. All but the floor is a window. In the center of the room is a grand golden telescope. Earnestly, I pray this side of the planet is facing Earth. I need to see my home.

    Using a computer screen, I set the telescope to align itself with Earth. I step back as the contraption moves toward the right. Once it settles into place I crouch down and put my eye up to the lens. I exhale in relief as I take in the blue and green planet so full of life. Those colors alone symbolize that enough. Red and brown are colors of death... of old blood. How fitting?

Earth is where I was given life, and here is where I shall die.