- Contact your lawyer. Find the papers you hid away somewhere because you never really thought you’d need them. Make sure everything is in order.
- Go back to that bar at the outer rim, the one carved into an asteroid crater. Finally try a glass of the vodka you could never afford, the one they filter through the core of a stone-cold moon.
- Make your way to an unexplored planet. Wander around. Draw up a map. Find a life form no one else has ever laid eyes on. Sketch. Take photos. Name it after something beautiful.
- Consult your charts. Travel to the nearest dying star, an imminent supernova. Watch as a light of worlds breathes its last, falls in on itself, and dies. Consider the final moments of something great.
- Don’t pass around the asteroid belt like you always do. Fly straight through.
- Get in touch with you-know-who. See if she’d like to meet up. Take her dancing at the carnival on Europa, like you always said you would. Tell her you don’t regret anything, even though it didn’t work out. That you’re thankful for the time you spent together.
- Visit your father. Ask the nurses how he’s doing. Listen to his stories, however improbable they sound, however detached they are from reality. Try to remember the good times.
- Go home. Rediscover the wonder of little things: the feeling of grass under your feet; time spent sitting by a window, watching the world pass by; falling asleep and being woken by the sun. Marvel at the magnitude of it all, the detail, the undiscovered places and experiences. Find peace.
—Anton lives in Durham, U.K., with his wife and their very fluffy dog. He writes fiction and poetry, and his work has appeared in a number of print and online journals. Find him at antonrose.com or @antonjrose.