Survival

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. The way pillowed lips part and ache to erupt a noise is dire, a noise wanting to leave the body. A white suit encapsulated his being, heavy-set eyes watching the vast nothingness do exactly that nothing. Oceans of black all around and stars don t seem like small dots in the sky anymore. He could make a shape out of the darkness. faces of his loved ones emerging and whispering a non-existent. "I love you"

The loose cable that separated him from his ship floated in the vacuum, the frayed ends of the malleable metal practically laughing at him and his helpless body. He could see his ship in the distance, floating just above the blue glow of the earth .there was his captain. She had stayed attached to this ship, tiny arms reaching out in a poor attempt to reach the man who may as well be good as dead. A tear left my eye, knowing what was to come. He mimicked the action.

Twenty minutes.

For twenty minutes he had been floating aimlessly, his body weightless and futile against the enemy of the sky. His throat was sore, stinging at the attempts of swallowing any moisture that sat uncomfortably in his mouth. his chest stayed heaved. The panic of being alone still settled in his body, but he gave up his screaming and attempts of any salvation within the eight minutes.

They had protocols for this. But he had exhausted every material he had, the jetpack had run out of fuel, the radio did not work from where he floated, and he did t have anything else at his disposal. The worst-case scenario. You get stranded in space for four minutes of oxygen left on your reader, and nobody could hear you beg whatever God was listening for mercy.

"I will do better if you let me live".

"I will dedicate my life, heart, and soul to spreading your message."

"I have a family.'

A family. He thought of his family. a daughter he has not watched grow up and a wife who said she would wait for him no matter what but last he heard she was finding a divorce lawyer. he stood on death's doorsteps, ready to raise his fist to knock and not even the picture can be placed in front of him as he did so. He wondered how they would find out. Would the captain call the station, say he had been lost to the unknown? Would the station call his wife, tell her he had died with her name spilling over his lips? Would she tell his daughter that he thought of them every second of every day?

There was no way of knowing, just that hurdling through space is the last thing he would ever do. He raised his wrist. looking at the digital monitor that read that he had about two minutes of air left. the alarms n his suits were loud, beeping incessantly as if he had a choice to connect to another tank or refuel at the ship. He had no choice.

He was small compared to the void: it could swallow him in seconds. Being just another human who ventured too far, who did what the masses wanted to do, and who failed.

The air was going thin and he remembered his training. Slow, deep breaths do not hyperventilate, it will make it go longer. He was not sure if he did want it to go longer. He had a certified countdown to his death and then what would happen? Would his body ever be recovered? Would h ever have his flesh touch the floor of the earth again? Or would he be suspended in the shadow forever?

The beeping got more frantic, showing he had just about thirty seconds before his last breath. He closed his eyes and counted each beep.

Ten.

Nine.

Eight.

Seven.

Six.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space or o they say. bur with his last breath, he begged, pleaded with every cell in his body that someone could hear him.

They did not.