I did a writing sample for one of my applications:
So far out from Earth, I’m twirling in stardust. At the end of radio waves, where we last heard the warm human voices we knew, at the edge of the two hundred light-year bubble. This is an aimless mission to nowhere places. I think the mission journal should be read as a dark comedy, not reported interactions of an inquisitive human. Every planet a cruel joke where we get life and biomes that seem less and less like Earth. After the first fifty stifling atmospheres, eighty blobs of gelatinous prokaryotes that we laughingly classify as lifeforms, and one hundred poisonous soups called oceans, Earth seems more and more a fairy tale. Will we ever see it again? Farther and farther it seems to recede. The geniuses who sent us here without a reliable star map to get back home with fuel sources along the way set us up to practically go on fumes. Rarely, we encounter sunsets that are a wondrous pale yellow like Sol, dipping into mountains and oceans that look promising, but are only ephemeral dreams of lush green and teeming sea. The bright flecks of burning sand we pass every day through the vacuum incinerate those dreams of mine, which are nothing but vaporous excitement that there would be spiritual life.