The metallic beeping annoyed the twelve year old boy. It really did. The sound was repetitive and never-ending, frustrating as it signified how much longer he'd be there, up on the loathsome ship above the beautiful blue planet. He hated this position, being able to see his home, yet not being able to go to it. It frustrated him, aggravated him beyond belief. It was why it was expedient for the project to finally be functional, because he'd finally be able to go home, even if home wouldn't exist anymore.

Indeed, home wouldn't exist anymore. His mother had known it, he knew it, and everyone aboard the ship knew it. Home would be completely annihilated  if the project succeeded, and that made him feel sorrowful, selfish even. After all, some people would hate him for what he was doing-sacrificing 7 billion lives for a chance to see his mother and make his father proud one last time.

It's why he hates himself. He isn't ignorant of the implications of his actions.

----6 years ago----Flashback----6 years old----

"Mama." He speaks even though it's futile. His mother is set in stone, her face an emotional mask, the only response to his pleading voice being the almost unnoticeable twitch of her muscles. 

He can tell that she is angry, very angry, and although most naive kids his age would not have seen the aura of bitter hatred that surrounded her, he did. After all, the boy is a genius, and at that moment, it is one of the many things he wished he wasn't, because the way that he sees she is hurt hurts him too.

"Mama." He speaks again, even more desperate this time for an answer. There is no response, although he doesn't expect one, no matter how much he wants one. The boy's mind was ahead any other six year old, but his heart wasn't, and that's why an irrational part of him suddenly makes him want to cry, because his mother just clenches her jaw. 

The boy's heart seems to crack a little when the petite woman turns away, his little two year old half-sister in hand.

The simple gesture is rejection, and it hurts more than his father's own rejection every did. 

Moments pass, and he tries to get his mother to speak again, this time with a different approach.

"Mama, I'm sorry, but please talk to me."

This time, she does speak, turning around with a sad, and almost pained smile plastered across her  pale face. 

What she says is the opposite of what he wants to hear, but all he wants to hear is her loving and lulling voice. 

"I know you're sorry, my...son, but the moment you board that rocket, you will no longer be any son of mine, for no son of mine would choose to go with that despicable man." She pause, a tear slipping from her warm brown eyes that were now cold. "Just remember... I love you."

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It isn't until the launch, is he nervous. No longer was he confidently looking forward with determination and absolute certainty of what lay ahead. Instead, the previous conversation had instilled a strange doubt in his mind, filling him with confusion and doubt-emotions he hadn't felt in a very long time. It scared him, really, how quickly his decision had been swayed, and that makes him wonder if the decision he had so hurriedly rushed into was the right one.

His mother would no longer consider him as her son, and that, perhaps, is what plants the seed of doubt. After all, no love from his could ever make up for his mother's last words to him. Nothing ever could, so nothing ever would. He hates how sad that makes him.

"10."

The computerized voice is sudden, and instead of feeling the excitement of departure like he had expected, he is instead filled with stomach-upsetting dread. He doesn't want to go anymore, he realizes. He wants to stay home and apologize to his mother.

"9."

Why was he still here? Panic rushes through him. He turns to his father, who is seated to the left of him with a happy smile on his face. 

"8."

His mouth opens slowly, and he's about to say his sudden and split second decision.

"7."

At the corner of his eye, out the window, he sees his mother is leaving. She doesn't want to see her son launch into space.

"6."

It's childish, but with each step his mother takes, an irrational fear grows deeper within him. She can't leave. Mommy, come back!

"5."

His father finally notices his gaze, turning towards him, his happy smile morphing into an expression of pride. He doesn't notice his son's hysteria. The boy thinks his mother would. She always knew when he was upset.

"4."

Why aren't his vocal words working? Why can't he speak what he wants to speak?

"3."

Mommy?...

"2."

Don't leave me alone...

"1."

It's too late now, isn't it?

"0."

It is.

----Present Day----End Flashback----12 years old----

A tear slips from the boy's eye, and he looks down on Earth sadly, his jaw clenched as he struggles to resist the urge to cry.

"I'm sorry, Mama."

A pause.

"I really am."

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(A/N: Should I continue this? It's just something I randomly came up with...)