They call me the space kid. Well… they would. If there was ever really a They. I haven’t seen another life form in a very long time.

It’s weird. My life hasn’t always been this way. I don’t know when things changed. I’m not even sure what all did change...

I miss the sky. Though, I suppose no matter what planet I am on, I am still technically looking at the same sky. Still… I prefer my sky. The baby blue sky dotted with fluffy white clouds and a bright yellow sun.

Funny… I don’t actually have real memories from Earth. I can only ever visualize it through childrens’ paintings. Specifically the ones I colored myself as a child.

I should at least be able to know the faces of my parents. Or my two sisters… Or even my pet dog, Sam. (I think he was my dog…) But I could not tell them apart from any other stick figures walking around on Earth.

They appear in my dreams a lot. A young girl, no more than three, is merely a bunch of lines with a circle head, blue dot eyes, a happy face, and a short bob of brown hair that looks more like a helmet. Above her head the name “Rila” is written in orange crayon.

Rila’s right hand is linked to another person’s left hand. An older stick girl, around eight years of age, with green dot eyes, and a slightly tilted face. Her helmet of hair is colored yellow and above her the name “Kedly” is scratched in purple crayon.

To the left side of the image is a pair. An older man and woman, both with blue eyes and brown hair. Above them is written the words“Mommy” and “Daddy” in blue and red crayon.

That’s how I remember them. Mommy and Daddy. I don’t know their real names…

In the center of the picture is a featureless stick figure. Just your average lines and circle head. Two pencil drawn dot eyes and the usual curved smile. There was once a name written above this figure, but it is now drowned out in black ink.

I don’t know my name. I don’t know how I look. I’m slowly forgetting everything from my past. I can’t remember the smells anymore. Waking up to a freshly cooked breakfast… I haven’t experienced that in what feels like many centuries.

I often wonder about how long I’ve been traveling. Is my family even still alive? Would I know anyone if I went back? Would anyone remember me…? Have I even really left? Maybe this is all just a dream…

Or maybe… maybe these memories that I think I’m having are just a figment of my imagination. Maybe there were never any drawings. Maybe there was never truly a happy family...

It’s weird. My life hasn’t always been this way... Has it?