Gracie was tired. She hadn’t slept much the night before. She was worried about whether she should have sent out the message.
She spent the daylight hours working hard, hoping it would allow her to fall into an exhausted sleep. She hunted for fruit several miles away, gathered enough firewood for a couple of weeks, and cleaned the supply ship until she was sure it was shiny enough to be seen from outer space. Throughout it all, she forced herself to stay away from the control console.
By late afternoon, a storm developed, forcing Gracie back inside. She kept glancing at the communications console before finally giving up and switching it on. She let it rotate through the pre-set sequence, feeling dejected when she didn’t hear anything.
Maybe last night was a fluke. Maybe no one was real
