My first post. Sorry if it's incorrect or too long.

Cold. That’s the word that most often comes to my mind, if you can call it that. The second word is ‘lonely’. I used to have so many people who cared about me, the engineers and scientists who built me, programmed me, taught me everything I know. I’ve seen one or two of them cry, you know. When I had a kink and they’d finally work it out. I wasn’t just the pride and joy of one person, I was the beloved handiwork of hundreds. Those numbers only grew when I was launched. I knew I’d be going away. That was my purpose. To go where my creators– my family– could not, and to help them see the wonders of the universe. I was nervous, but excited to give back to the people who’d given me so much. My goodbye party was HUGE. Broadcast on TV, they said. I felt like the most important thing on (and soon to be off) earth. I was primped and fussed over for ages before they finally moved me to the launch pad and attached me to the back of a rocket, ready to go. This was it. I was about to fulfill my purpose. I could hear the countdown, feel the rumble of the jets as I blasted off in a cloud of dust and smoke. I was on my way to explore the cosmos, but I wasn’t alone. Not really. The scientists were right behind me, ready to help me on my journey and see what I saw. For years, it was amazing. I got calls and instructions every day from the people back on earth, asking me to move this way or that way, to take photographs and send back readouts. I don’t think they knew, but I could hear them bustling around the control center, oohing and ahhing at the things I would send back to them. I was important. I was needed. Then, everything changed. I was taking photographs of meteors, much to the delight of a scientist named Kelly. She was one of my favorites, an older woman who’d been part of my project since the very beginning, when I was still an idea. She didn’t come in often these days, but when she did she always seemed genuinely happy to see how I was doing and what I was sending in. Suddenly, a meteor came from nowhere and crushed my receiver. The sound buzzed in and out as I heard people scrambling to do something, and I could hear Kelly’s frantic voice above the din demanding that something be done. That was the last I ever heard from them, from earth, from my family. At first I thought that they would find a way to reconnect with me, maybe send out some sort of remote control probe to fix me so that I could continue my mission. I waited for months, but nothing came. I was drifting through the infinite, past stars and planets, but with no purpose. No job. It’s been years now, and I’ve about given up hope that anyone will find me. They probably don’t even remember me by now. Not as they used to know me, anyway. I was probably written off as a failed project, my files put away in a cabinet somewhere to collect dust. No one thinks about me now, but I think about them. I think about Kelly and Roger and Sanjay, the leaders of my project and the people I would almost consider my parents. I think about the many engineers and college students who put their blood, sweat and tears into building me, making sure I worked. I think about all the people who would cycle in and out of the control center, and about the life events they discussed while monitoring me. Did Dave’s daughter ever break up with that abusive boyfriend? Was Linda’s baby born healthy and strong? I would never know. All I knew was cold and stars and uninhabited planets. I think about that as a bit of space junk bumps into my already damaged body, knocking off my last remaining solar panel. It's not long before everything goes completely black, my conscious journey finally over.