This time, I ain't gonna say much. But here's the real short short-story.
I am a rocket man. There is no easy way to say this, but that's the clearest I can be. I work for the government - hey, it's a job! Don't feel bad for me. I've never enjoyed the company of people. I like being alone. Or... well, I liked it. Now I ain't that sure anymore. It's been so long... and it's gonna be a long, long time till touchdown brings me down to Earth once again. You see, I haven't heard from them in a long while now. This was supposed to be a Monday to Friday routine mission, like the last one. It started on Earth - the machines detected a kind of object soaring around one of our space stations. They were gonna send me up to check it out. Me - the rocket man. One of the few people on Earth that had the ability to stay in a rocket for days, weeks, months, without eating or drinking anything. I can sleep, but I don't need it. I only do it to... blend in, sort of. But I get tired sometimes, plus I kinda like sleeping. It's quiet for the soul. Rest.
My wife packed my bags, pre-flight. I always bring a shitload of books and clothes, mostly for the pleasure of changing, and to keep me busy. Then I went to the base, got into the rocket and was shot up. It was a calming procedure. I soared through space, thinking about everything - how boring and empty the universe really is, how small we are, how... unimportant. Unsignificant. I thought of how it would be to raise a kid on Mars; a cold, miserable planet, all alone. I thought of my job as a rocket man. How easily things went wrong. And then, after a week of thinking, soaring through space and my mind, I felt betrayed. An hour later, I lost contact with Earth. Now, three weeks later, I miss Earth. I miss my wife. And I think it's gonna be a long, long time.