Safety Check
A safety check leads to despair.
Your hubris got the best of you. It was a short swing. Literal inches. Handle to handle.
Did you even consider what would happen if you missed?
Why didn't you take the two seconds to tether yourself to the ship? You've never skipped this step before.
And all for a manual safety check. The irony is not lost on you.
You do the math in your head.
Again.
Your suit holds 800 liters of oxygen. That is about 16 hours. You’ve been drifting for 13. One hour gone from your EVA. Two left. Probably less.
Unsurprisingly, recalculating does not make you feel better.
Your ship is but a speck in the distance.
You're hungry. So damn hungry.
The loneliness has seeped into every pore of your being. With your entire crew dead from the explosion, you’ve spent the last few weeks talking to ghosts.
You gaze around. Why do you feel claustrophobic in a literal infinite expanse?
This really is it, isn’t it? Your entire life lead to… this?
Bloody hell. You didn’t even want to be an astronaut. You wanted to be a teacher, to impact lives. You wanted to make a difference.
It really was all for naught, wasn't it?
Will anyone even remember you?
You raise your hand to the switch on your helmet. You ease on the loudspeaker function and take a deep breath.
No one hears your scream.
About the Creator
Jennifer Triplett
Fitness writer turned fiction. This is the home for stories created via writing competition prompts. Enjoy!
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Comments (1)
I really felt the despair here. I think you've done a great job in few words. I'm off to explore more of your stuff!