The water was a bright, delicate blue. It stretched before him for miles and miles. It was finally infinity. The machine beneath him thrashed and roared in its thirst for dry land; yearning for its wheels to regain traction. But it was too late. They were stealing. And in that moment, Spaceman had never felt so alive. Peter Baker has always been a strange and quiet man. Never one to overstay his welcome, or, truth be told, even acknowledge it most of the time. Suffice it to say that when it came to building human connections, Peter was far from incompetent. When he was a child, some even went so far as to suggest that he may have been shot in the head. Others still thought he might have been possessed. What no one had ever been able to figure out. Surely one spirit or another, they had said, and it was surely no use. But the truth was that Peter hadn't been hit in the head, as they had so eloquently said. He had also never been possessed, at least to his knowledge. No, Peter just wasn't interested in most of what this world had to offer. According to Peter, everything worth doing here had already been done. When he was very young, Peter remembered the feeling he had when he heard about Columbus, Cortez, and the other great explorers of the human race. How courageous they must have been and how many trials they had to overcome to succeed. Through these stories, Peter had discovered that he had a great desire. A thirst for adventure. Say no to plagiarism. Get a tailor-made essay on “Why violent video games should not be banned”?Get the original essayA Thirst for the Unknown. Every Halloween, from the time he first heard about Lewis and Clark and their great expedition, until the day he decided he was too old for such things, Peter would go out on the town dressed as one of the two men. young adventurers, always alternating between the two, never knowing who to choose. Throughout his young life, all Peter wanted to do was be like them. Discover what remained to be found, brave the wilderness in search of the truth, be an explorer and contribute to the great conquest of humanity on this planet Earth. So imagine his disappointment when Peter realized there was nothing left for him to do. The day magic died for Peter was a day he would never forget. It was a Tuesday. The first Tuesday in March to be exact. It was on this day that we learned that someone had discovered a new tribe deep in the Amazon rainforest. At first, Peter's interest was piqued. A new Tribe, how exciting! He remembered thinking. It was only the next day, after doing some research into this astonishing discovery, that Peter finally discovered the truth. Two point three percent. This is how much land remained to be seen. Two point three percent. And besides, it wasn't even anything good. Just a little ice around the poles and a few islands that no one had ever bothered to look for. And with that knowledge, Peter was broken. The dream was over and reality was crashing down. The one thing Peter had always lived for was the promise of adventure, the promise of the unknown. Every Christmas he had collected books on exploration from everyone he knew, every birthday had been spent visiting or in a museum, learning about the past and what he had hoped would one day become his future. And without that, he was lost. For years, after realizing that he would never be Cortez, sailing up the South American coast, that he would nevernever Columbus, discovering more lands in the name of his house and country than anyone had ever done before him, Peter had simply floated. In high school, Peter remained anonymous. The History Club, where he once might have felt at home, now seemed like nothing more than a mocking reminder, rubbing salt into his still fresh and gaping mental wounds. The few friends he had managed to make as a child gradually drifted away from him, realizing that something in him must be flawed, that something with Peter just wasn't right. . And they were right, of course. Nothing was going well with Peter. He was an explorer who had nothing left to explore. A painter without a brush, a wood carver without a knife. Expressionless and alone, Peter suffered in silence. He always wanted something that he knew he could never have. After graduating, Peter moved into a small studio apartment on his own. He worked at the local thrift store during the day and at night he watched movies. There was one thing that always managed to make him forget who he was for a moment, one thing that allowed him to become someone new, to live another life, and that was cinema. Peter lived inside the big screen. It was rare that he saw sunlight, and when he did, it was almost always because he had an errand to run or an appointment he couldn't reschedule. Peter had no taste for daylight. He found it gratuitous, even excessive. The night suited him much better. In fact, the darkness soothed Pierre, because it was, like him, empty. And so, day after day, that's how it went for Peter. Working at a thrift store in the evenings, watching movies all night and sleeping all day. For a while, Peter was content, but never happy. With nothing left to discover, he was almost sure he never would. Some came into the store and he resold them to others. A simple life of toil and misery. What more could he hope for? Every now and then something really cool would come into the store, an old letter jacket from the 60s or a rotary phone shaped like Mickey Mouse's head. And those things did give Peter a small sense of joy, but it was never enough to overcome what was always there. The despair of a crippled explorer brought to his knees not because of his own incompetence, but because of the exceptional prowess and diligence of those who had already gone before him. In his ineffectiveness, Peter wallowed, falling deeper and deeper into the hole dug before him by the greatest names in history. Peter was defeated. For a while, he was sure he would never become what he wanted to become, see what he knew he needed to see to finally find his own happiness. He was sure he would never become himself. But then it happened. And it happened in the strangest way possible. Early one Sunday morning, as the sun began to rise, Peter was finishing a documentary series on the lost civilization of Gobekli Tepe. The narrator had just postulated that maybe, just maybe, the answer to all the questions Gobekli Tepe posed about The Past of the Humanities could be answered by one thing. Aliens. Peter scoffed. Fucking aliens, yeah, that's right. But it still made him think. What if they were aliens, as unlikely as that may be. What if they were up there, watching him right now. The idea seemed strangely comforting to him. All of a sudden, Peter really felt like he was being watched and acted accordingly. Sitting up a little straighter and pushing his hair to the side, Peterbegan to ask questions. What if there was something there that they hadn't found yet, something there that he might be the first to see. And just like that, Peter was alive again. From that point on, things started moving quickly. Peter was sure they were there, watching him. I watch over him. At this point he wasn't sure who they were, the aliens that didn't exist, the men in black searching for them. Maybe it was even himself, watching from the future. All he knew was that whoever they were would show him what to do. Well, for Peter, the possibilities were endless. On Monday, Peter arrived at work ready to quit. He wouldn't have time to buy and sell this crap now, anyway, not now. He had a plan. But just as he was about to tell Sally, his boss, the good news, he saw her. It was perfect. An extraordinarily bulbous helmet, forming almost a complete circle, sat pathetically on a low shelf near the front door. A place like that was no place for a beauty like the one that now stood before him, so Peter took her and walked out. He had completely forgotten about Sally or work that day. Even his cries of warning fell on deaf ears. Peter was a man with a plan, and nothing could stop him now. The helmet was a subtle shade of eggshell white, with a dark button on the visor. Robust and clean. A beautiful color, really, and as soon as he arrived on the field, he knew what machine it was intended to ride with. The great beast kicked and roared beneath Peter's inexperienced thighs, but he still held on, and eventually, he had tamed the thing. The clerk holding the clipboard had looked terrified when Peter first started the bike, but at Peter's insistence that they were looking out for him and not weren't going to let him get hurt, the man finally gave in. As Peter pulled out of the parking lot, his helmet strapped tightly to his head, his big beast of a machine roaring underneath, he was jubilant. He only had one last piece left that he needed, and he was ready to go. Over Peters' shoulder he could still see the salesman. He spoke on the phone hurriedly, staring at Peter with wild eyes as he left the parking lot. No matter, Peter thought. Nothing could stop him now. Rushing home to his closet, he found it. It’s funny how life has turned out. This old jacket belonged to Peter's grandfather. This man had never done well, and Peter had never had a meaningful connection with him, but suddenly he felt indebted to him. How nice of Grandpa to help me like that, Peter had thought. Peter wondered how he knew at the time what was going to happen. Maybe they told him. Yes, that must be it, of course they did. They needed him and they knew it. Pierre was satisfied. He placed the dark gray jacket on the small table in his kitchen, right next to where he had carefully placed his impeccably round helmet. The keys to his new machine were laid out next to them. It was getting dark, but for some reason Peter was tired. Yes, he thought, it's time to turn in for the night. Peter hadn't slept through the night in years, not like this. And in all his life, he had never slept so soundly. The bright California morning sun shone brightly as Peter walked out of his apartment door for the last time. For the first time in his life, Peter found it a sensation..