The year was thirty thirty-four,
And the S.S. Explorer did soar,
Through the blackness of the void,
A mission to explore.
Seven astronauts on board,
A diverse crew of men and lord,
With skills and bravery, they'd been hand-picked,
For this journey, no one was sick.
The ship, a symphony of gears,
Hummed a song, without any fears,
The pioneers, with chatter light,
Did their daily tasks, with nary a blight.
Fate, a fickle mistress fair,
Had a surprise, beyond compare,
An alarm, a sudden wail,
A derelict ship, on our trail.
The crew was stunned, unsure what to do,
Their fate, now, hanging by a thread, so few,
They prepared for impact, with all their might,
But blackness was all that came in sight.
The first chapter, a mystery unfolds,
The fate of the crew, yet untold,
Their journey, a story yet to be spun,
By the hands of fate, the outcome un-done.
About the Creator
A. M. Barrett
I am a writer with a wide range of interests and experiences. My writing is characterized by a unique blend of creativity, curiosity, and critical thinking.
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Last Days
The mirror showed a reflection that wasn't my own. It was me, but there was something warped, and that was not me. I narrow my eyes and peer into the narrowing eyes of my deformed reflection. I was off, and while I could see it in my reflection, no one else could see it. At least no one acknowledges it. Getting out of bed has become a chore. A chore I hate. After fifteen to twenty minutes of lying awake, staring at the ceiling and wishing I hadn't woken up, I finally shift to the side of the bed, legs dangling down the four foot high drop to the floor.
By Colt Henderson2 days ago in Horror
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Part 2 Here - https://vocal.media/stories/the-routine-of-space-travel-part-2