Space Geographer
Part 2

Morgan Hannah
Life & Style Editor

 

We I signed up to be a Space Geographer, I never imagined this
happening. I got that it was a diverse discipline that sought to

understand our world and others, but... Swiftly, my brain starts to ache
as distressing images of the crash assault my sense. Flashing red lights,
warning sirens, deep breaths. Gravity began to attack the hull of my
ship, pressing and crunching it inward around me with ease as if she
was nothing more than an aluminum can. A foreign planet always in
view of my observation window. I remember the dread in the pit of

my stomach knowing that that’s where I'd have to touch down. With
systems offline though, I had no clue where it was in the universe that |
had crash landed.

Clutching at the glass dome surrounding my head, I inhale and
exhale as smoothly as my rattled self will allow. I check my oxygen—it’s
low. Shit. 1 probably don’t have any extra cannisters either. It’s okay. I
can get through this. I shift my weight and stand up, the extra bulk of
my suit making this simple motion a feat, but I manage and stumble
my way over to the dash. Lights are out, the glass plates are cracked, and
it really looks like I’m not going to be able to restart the system. Giving
it a try anyways, I flick at all the right knobs and switches. Nothing
seems to be happening. My suit warns me that my heart rate is picking
up, and that'll eat through my oxygen faster. Taking one deep breath,

I turn to face the observatory window. Maybe, just maybe I’ve landed
ona planet that supports life? That could be a blessing or a problem,
but there’s only one way to find out. And it’s worth it. If I stay here, I'll
surely run out of oxygen and suffocate in my bulky silver skin. I'll just
use quantitative approaches to understand and assess the geographic
phenomena around me. Stick to protocol

Continuation of this exciting adventure next week!

it's not real,
silly, just go
back to sleep

Sonam Kaloti
Arts Editor

 

Fruit bats bathing in soup at dinnertime,
koalas burning, three-year olds dying;
don’t lose your head, just keep denying.

Relax corona kid, you're in your prime:
bought a plane ticket despite hating flying.
Fruit bats bathing in soup at dinnertime,
koalas burning, three-year olds dying,

  

flowered skeletons dancing to ragtime
up-tempo donning gas masks and crying,
“we don't want to consume them!" Defying
fruit bats bathing in soup at dinnertime,
koalas burning, three-year olds dying.

Don't lose your head, just keep denying.

Illustration by Morgan Hannah