I sat totally still, panic rising in my chest as I had the unexpected realisation that I’d never experienced true darkness before.

I couldn’t tell whether my eyelids were closed or open.

Back home…

The word ‘home’ brought a catch to my throat. It wasn’t home anymore.

I took a deep breath, and tried not to think about it.

Back in my old home, the lights were always on. A soft, warm glow emanating from every floor, wall and ceiling.

But here, now, sitting in this ancient disposal pod, the only senses I had were the smell of melted silicone and pressure of the seatbelt against my chest.

The silence and darkness bore down on me, heavy and threatening.

Then, with a sudden creak, the hatch began to open, bit by bit. A blast of hot, dry air leapt towards me, accompanied by a harsh light — brighter than I’d ever seen.

You’d think I’d have been excited, in that moment.

Relieved, at the least.

I wasn’t. I just wanted someone, anyone, to take me home.