On the day she was born, he left for the stars. He watches her grow up on screens. Misses her first words. Misses her first steps. She's never kissed his scratchy cheek, or fallen asleep on his shoulder. He's never wiped away her tears, or sung her to sleep. Now she's a toddler, and he's about to enter hibernation sleep – and when he wakes, nearly one hundred and fifty years in the future, his family will be gone. The Dark Age is an exceptionally personal short story about fathers and daughters. I'm not sure I've ever written something quite as personal before or since.
