by Shannon Hale
When I can finally focus, I see the familiar interior of a spacecraft. It is compact and utilitarian, meant for a singular purpose: a one-way trip to a faraway planet. I slip out of my cryo tank, sparing a moment to steady my feet. Identical tanks line up alongside mine, but none of the others have opened yet. I run my finger along a metal label on the lower half of my tank: Sarah Magera. Liquid drips from my bodysuit to the floor, but I’m too excited to care that I’m making a mess. If I’m awake, then that means . . .
I hurry to the port side and walk to the front of the ship, looking for a viewing window to see outside. But the walls are covered with metal and wire or glowing buttons. One button catches my eye: artificial gravity. The side of my mouth rises, and I only hesitate a moment before I press the button.
Everything begins to rattle, like a space giant has tapped the side of our ship to see if anyone’s inside. My entire body vibrates, and it reminds me of another memory from home.
“It’s starting,” I say, pulling on Mom’s arm. “We’re going to miss it.”
She smiles and drops the shirt she’s been folding, following me out the front door. We get on our hands and knees and crawl into the cardboard box I’ve fashioned into a spacecraft, modeled after the one about to take off across the lake.
“Hurry.” I roll onto my back and make room for her. “We have to finish our launch prep.” I pretend to strap myself into my imaginary seat.
“Ten,” Mom says. “Nine . . . eight.”
I press the make-believe buttons in front of us. “Fuel—check. Oxygen—check.”
“Seven.” Mom pulls her hands down the sides of her face as though securing a helmet to her shoulders. “Six . . . five.”
I do the same and then reach for her hand to squeeze it. “This is what we’ve trained for,” I whisper. “We’re ready.”
Mom squeezes back. “Four . . . three . . . two.”
I hear the roaring of the real spacecraft in the distance and imagine the sweet anticipation of those on board. I try to mimic it—beads of sweat form along my forehead, and my heart races in my chest.
“One.”
I press my body into the ground to imitate the g-forces at work. The ground vibrates in reaction to the real launch. And when it finally stills, I close my eyes and envision the black of space surrounding me.
Home is swept away from my mind like a handful of dust. Except my planet isn’t home, is it? Not anymore.
The rattling stops. Slowly my arms feel lighter and hover beside me, and when I press off the floor, I drift into the air, floating in the cramped quarters of the ship. My yellow hair sticks out all over the place without gravity telling it what to do, and when I touch the fabric of my suit, water droplets scatter away in all directions, swimming with me among these stars.
I stretch out my arms and legs, arch my back, and close my eyes, basking in weightlessness. No anchor. No ground to hold me back, no water to keep me afloat. This is the opposite of drowning. It is drifting in particles of light and space. It is life.
I tilt my head back and open my eyes, half expecting to see a spacecraft shooting into the atmosphere, but then I remember I’m on that craft now. I’ve already shot into the sky. I’ve already broken through the atmosphere and stretched across the black night. I am the star some other girl has wished upon.
I kick myself toward the port front and extend my arms to stop myself near the gravity button. I press it again, and slowly my body lowers to the floor of the ship. I run my fingertips along the rest of the buttons and pause at another one: observation window. I press it, and the entire roof of the ship begins to retract. Thick glass separates me from the universe. When the retraction stops, so does my heart. Because there, filling the entire window, is the most beautiful planet I’ve ever seen.
I studied photographs of this as a child.
I endured endless lessons about it in school.
Rumors have been passed down through generations.
But none of it does the planet justice. I am swimming among the stars, but for the first time in my life, I want to be anchored. I want to be on that ground more than anything.
“How long will it take?” I ask, tugging on the collar of my bodysuit.
Mom smiles, brushing a strand of hair out of my face. “You know it’s a hundred years, Sarah. You’ve always known that.”
“No,” I say. “I mean . . . how long will it feel like?”
She glances around the interior of the spacecraft that will be our home for the next century. “It will feel like you’ve woken from a long nap. And the life you’ve lived before will be a fleeting dream compared to what awaits us, to what will be within your grasp when you wake.”
I lie back and settle in place inside my cryo tank. “I wish we could spend a little while in space,” I say. “While we’re awake, I mean. I wish we could live among the stars instead.”
“No, Sarah. When you see our new home, you’ll want to be there as soon as you can.” Mom leans over and kisses my forehead. “It’s where we came from. Where we belong. Where we’re meant to be.”
“I love you, Mom.”
She pats my cheek and steps back from my cocoon. “Love you, Sarah.”
The cryo lid moves into place, and everything goes dark.
I can already feel it, the pull this planet has over me. It mocks the confines of this ship, knows it owns me before we’ve even met. I reach an arm upward, wanting to shake its hand. I long to know what it feels like to walk along the green grass. To run my hands through the blue water. Feel the wind that commands the wispy white clouds through the sky.
I don’t know how long I stand there yearning for something so close yet still out of reach. Until . . .
“You’re awake.”
I drop my arm and turn to the familiar voice. “Mom?” My own voice shakes, and I wipe the tears that trickle down my face.
“Oh, sweetheart.” She steps toward me in her damp bodysuit and buries me in her embrace. “Welcome home, Sarah.” She glances at the window roof and smiles. “Welcome to Earth.”
Ilima Todd
Ilima Todd was born and raised on the north shore of Oahu and dives for octopus with her dad every time she visits—otherwise she’s diving into books in the Rocky Mountains where she lives with her husband and four children. She graduated from Brigham Young University with a degree in physics and eats copious amounts of raw fish and avocados without regret. But mostly she loves being a wife and mama and wouldn’t trade that job for anything in the world.
http://ilimatodd.com/
Carson
(Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia)
Meet Carson! In May 2012, Carson was diagnosed with acute lymphoblastic leukemia (ALL), but his dream is to be a bull rider and a cowboy. During our photo shoot, Carson rode a horse for the first time. It was a special moment and something he will never forget.
Carson’s nickname is “Tuff Boy,” and it definitely fits. One of the things I admire is the unconquerable spirit these kids have as they face the fight for their lives.
To see some behind-the-scenes images as well as get a glimpse into how I made this image, use the QR code below.
www.anythingcanbeproject.com/dream-blog/2014/11/12/carson-the-bull-rider
Cowboy Carson
Jess Smart Smiley
It used to be such a lovely place.
People would travel long distances to vacation here . . . but not anymore. The town that used to be paradise no longer existed.
There were no rainbows of colorful flowers left to sniff. No gushing cascades of water spilling over rocks and bubbling until they stretched out and flowed into perfect rivers and streams. No more hills covered in soft green grasses to catch you when you fell and to whisper in your ear as you gradually fell asleep. There were no more birds to fill the air with melodic thrums and trills, whistles and warbles. Even the wind seemed to have gone.
It used to be such a lovely place.
What used to be a bright and hopeful city
, filled with people and a beautiful, sprawling landscape, had become a desert. People no longer bothered to say the name of the town out loud, because it wasn’t worth saying. It wasn’t worth thinking about. Everything in the town was dirt and dust and sand and grit. Everything looked the same, smelled the same, and felt the same, because it was the same.
One dry and dusty day (which was every day), a bicycle wheeled into town. The tires screeched to a stop, and a pair of cowboy boots hit the ground.
“Oops,” the boy said to himself, looking at the dusty dirt that seemed to be endless.
Carson was lost.
He made a face and turned around, trying to remember how he’d ended up in this nameless desert.
Carson scratched an itch on his leg through his blue jeans and removed his large, ten-gallon hat, waving it in front of his face. The sun suddenly seemed much hotter and drier than ever. Carson struggled to swallow, feeling a pinch in the back of his throat. (Cowboy clothes were fun to dress in, but they could be hot!)
After adjusting his giant silver belt buckle, Carson straddled his “horse” (which is what he called his bicycle) and started pedaling.
It was no use—he was lost. Trapped in an endless desert. He had no way of knowing which way was home or even how far away home was.
Carson thought of his family and wondered if he’d ever see them again. He tried not to cry, but the tears came too quickly.
Suddenly—a sound.
“Mom?” Carson wiped away his tears and blinked, but he saw no one.
“Mom, I’m over here!” He jumped and waved his arms. Carson turned in a circle, but his mother was nowhere to be found.
Again, he heard the sound.
Carson squinted, put on his hat, and then squinted again.
Far, far away, in the dusty distance, Carson thought he saw something. He leaped to his metal steed and pedaled as hard and as fast as he could.
He was getting closer. Closer.
Carson couldn’t quite tell what had made the sound, but it was the only thing that wasn’t dust for miles around. He was getting closer.
The something seemed to be moving.
“Mom! I’m coming!”
Carson was filled with a burst of hope as he sped across the dry ground. The something was coming into view.
“Mom?”
Closer.
“I’m right here!”
Closer.
Then, all around him, an explosion boomed and knocked Carson to the ground. He blinked hard and shook his head, propping himself up by his arms.
He glanced to his side to see that the explosion had come from his bicycle tire, which had blown apart. The pieces rested next to a hard, ancient cactus.
Carson frowned.
As he looked around, he noticed something strange.
Carson blinked, then leaned in, wiping at the dust with his hands.
It was a patch of grass.
It was covered in dirt, but it was grass just the same. He pushed more dirt away to find that the grass beneath it rolled down into a luscious hill with a house at the bottom. Carson couldn’t believe his eyes! He ran back up the hill and confirmed that everything else was still covered in dirt.
“There must be a whole town under here!”
Carson thought of all the houses and hills that were sure to be covered in dust, and he felt dizzy, wondering at how such a thing could have happened.
He sat down next to his bicycle and noticed something else on the ground. There were footprints—giant footprints—all over the desert floor. Carson squinted as he realized they were not human footprints, but—
A flash of hot air blasted the back of his neck, and Carson wheeled around to find himself face-to-face with an enormous bull!
The blast blew his favorite ten-gallon hat right off his head, but Carson couldn’t grab it. He was stunned. He was paralyzed with fear. The bull was terrifying. This must have been what he’d seen in the distance, what had made those strange noises.
Carson had seen dozens of bulls before, but this was by far the biggest.
Towering over him like an angry black fist, the muscular bull seemed to boil inside its skin, glaring at Carson with all the rage of a thousand thunderstorms.
Carson looked at his bicycle, wondering if he could ride away fast enough, but he noticed a torn piece of tire next to him. Without his tire, he was stuck.
As if reading his mind, the bull raised its gigantic left leg and threw down its hoof, crushing Carson’s bike.
Carson whimpered. He was stuck in an endless desert, cornered by the largest bull in the world, without a single person to save him.
He thought of his family and prayed they would be all right.
The bull kicked up a cloud of dust, and the ten-gallon hat caught Carson’s eye. As the dust circled up and around the furious bull, Carson felt a bolt of strength surge through him.
He grabbed his hat and stood up, adjusting his belt buckle and tightening his hand-carved wooden bolo tie. Carson shouted into the tumbling cloud of dust, “I ain’t goin’ down without a fight!”
Pulling the hat over his head, Carson leaped into the whirlwind, disappearing in the swirling dust.
All around them the desert was dry, dull, and unremarkable. The desert went on for miles and miles, all of it nothing but flat, dusty earth. Except for Carson and the bull.
An enormous cloud of dirt spun around the two as Carson grabbed on to the bull’s back and pulled himself higher onto the bull’s neck. The bull fumed, snorting and grunting, spinning and spinning around, kicking up even more dust.
As the bull stomped, the dry ground beneath it broke open, revealing small patches of lush, green grass.
The bull’s eyes glowed with red madness until Carson thought the beast might burst with fury. Instead, the bull continued bucking and kicking, knocking the dust from the earth, and building what became a violent, swirling tornado of dust around him. Carson clutched the bull’s neck with one hand and held his hat in place with the other. The bull bucked wilder and wilder, but Carson held on, and, suddenly, the bull slowed down.
While the dust continued to circle and settle around the two, the bull lowered its head in submission. Carson had tamed the gigantic beast.
“Yeeeeeee-haw!” Carson shouted, waving his hat.
As the bull drew in large, slow breaths, Carson looked around and was amazed to find that the bull had kicked so hard that it had lifted the dust from the area. What used to be dry, flat ground was now an entire town, complete with rolling hills and beautiful homes—all without their former dusty disguises.
With the dust lifted, Carson was able to identify a few buildings in the distance that were near his home.
“Hi-yah!” he shouted, nudging the bull forward with his boots. The bull snorted and charged forward, the giant dust cloud still circling around them. “This way!” Carson pulled the bull sharply to the right, and they tromped down a familiar road. “Almost there.” Carson laughed, his eyes filled with delight.
“Stop!” Carson shouted, and the bull screeched to a halt. “See that?” He pointed to an empty lot near his home. “That’s where I’m gonna make my rodeo stadium. When I’m bigger.” The lot was covered in rocks and mud. Seeing the ground now somehow made Carson sad, but the bull snorted an enormous snort, which blew the dust cloud right into the yard, covering the giant stones and muddy pools.
As the dust settled, Carson realized that the land was now the perfect place for a rodeo stadium, and he began to laugh.
“Carson?” He looked down to see his family looking up at him, worried. “You’re okay!”
“Of course I’m okay,” Carson said. “I’m a cowboy!”
With all of the dust now gone, people quickly moved back into the town. Children played in the streams and rolled down the hills. The town was even more beautiful and green than it had been before. But still, the town had no name.
As the mayor watched Carson and his bull race their friends on their bicycles, a thou
ght came to him.
The next day, he gathered all the townspeople in the square and in a loud voice declared, “I hereby name this town—Carson City!”
Carson beamed, his family cheered, and even the bull gave a snort—that sounded a little like a laugh.
Jess smart Smiley
Jess Smart Smiley is a writer, illustrator, and graphic designer living in Utah. His publications include Upside Down: A Vampire Tale (Top Shelf Productions, 2012), Rumpus on the Run: A Monster Look-n-Find Book (Mascot Books, 2013), and 10 Little Monsters Visit Oregon (Familius, 2014).
http://jess-smiley.com
Caimbre
(Neuroblastoma)
Meet Caimbre! When a tumor was found in her abdomen, Cambria was diagnosed with neuroblastoma. Her dream of becoming a mermaid is fitting since she lives in California. Her photo session was so much fun to shoot, and she had no problem getting into character. She was such a professional it was like she had been posing for years.
The hardest part of her photo shoot was finding the right background for some of her pictures. Shooting in California, we thought that would be easy. But we didn’t have a lot of time to find the right location, so we started visiting California beaches to find the right combination of rocks, waves, and light.
Our last beach was Laguna Beach, and it happened to be the perfect location for the photo on page 95. Caimbre’s beautiful expression, full of hope and life, perfectly embodies what this project is about.
www.anythingcanbeproject.com/dream-blog/2015/4/11/caimbre-mermaid
The Mermaid’s Tale
Lehua Parker
We’re doomed,” Rory the cabin boy muttered, clinging like a barnacle to the ship and searching the sea below. Rogue waves crashed against the hull of the Winter Nomad, stinging his eyes and burning the back of his throat. “Two lanterns on the bowsprit, and I can’t see a thing. This fog is thicker than oatmeal and twice as sticky.”