I am the only one here.

Each of us, sectioned off and quartered.

Each of us, assigned a city.

Each of us,

alone.

There was not enough space on the ships.

Many simply couldn’t handle the journey.

We unsuccessfully tried to recolonise.

We planted the seeds as instructed.

A worthless purpose.

I let out a heavy sigh.

We received transmissions from back home,

saw them on the video feed.

Overjoyed they were alive,

but mourned their destiny

as they slowly rotted away.

Their skin falling apart.

Unable to help.

Unable to save them.

Unable to go back.

Already too far away.

Living in a utopia,

knowing no one will ever join me.

Knowing I can never join them.

I sit in my garden of reconstructed roses grown from genetically stored data,

unable to appreciate their artificial beauty.

I observe the 3D printed architecture built by the robots deployed from the shuttle,

their tinking metal a reminder of my flesh-ridden solitude.

Though the blame for humanity lays not on my shoulders,

I am sorry,

all the same.

I am sorry I could not save more of us.

I am sorry I accepted this mission.

I am sorry

I could only save

myself.