Can't Stay

From an exploration into an arid landscape. I recently read a book called Lonesome Dove, and it talked about how some landscapes were so hot they would appear white. This phrase burned into my mind as I constructed this image.
I pictured a planet that has grown so hot that people have traveled from all over the land to board one of the escape shuttles that will take them off the planet.

Can’t Stay- A Short Story

Grasping for the handle of the door, gold strands unraveled and roiled around his outstretched hand.

“This is it,” he said to himself. “I finally found—”

“Wake up!” a voice shouted.

The image in front of him resolved into the same shit he’d seen the previous day. Dirt ceiling, repulsor beams, but most disappointing was the profound lack of a door. Rolling to his side to look out the window, his view now resolved into the same color as the rest of this desert planet: white-hot.

“You’re gonna miss it, you know.” The tall figure came into the doorway.

“I know, so that means I have to enjoy it now, right?”

A laugh. Her laugh.

“Well, you’ll miss this place, but more importantly, you’ll miss our ride! I almost considered leaving without you…”

Shit.

“Tickets?” he said, lifting his head, electricity traveling through his newly awakened muscles.

“Already checked us in…” Her classic response drifted hazily into the room.

“…Condor 1357 leaves in one hour.”

Shit.

Heaving his go-bag over his shoulder, he stood in the doorway.

“I’m over this heat.”

With a smile, the figure said, “Soon enough, darling. If it weren’t for the Condor program, we’d all cook on this planet.”

He looked once more at his barren room.

“Bye, room. Thanks for the shelter and the memories.”

“It’s a room. Let’s go.”

“It was my room. And I’m ready.”

The shuttle’s thrusters lifted off moments later. Within minutes, they arrived at the Condor, a massive transport designed to carry them and countless others away from the now-barren planet.

Finding their seats, he found a viewport. Looking down, he could almost see the former living quarters. A speck of sand in the distance. A tiny boulder among countless others.

“Bye-bye, world. Thanks for taking care of me,” he said.

“It’s a planet; we’ll find another.”

“It was my planet. I know.”

As the Condor crafted distance, the grain of sand that was his home became smaller, until it was an orange speck drifting in a sea of its stellar neighbors.

He looked at the small sphere that housed so many memories, then watched it slowly be consumed by the forever-black.