Ficly

Preying on Loneliness

I unzipped my coveralls and let the top half hang down behind me like skin I had sloughed off. It felt good to be warm again. The drive core was practically the only place on the ship that could maintain heat. Space was just too cold. Actually, people were the real problem. People were just too cheap. Maybe that was why most spacers traversed the vast blackness as popsicles. I had done that once. Never again. I don’t know how people handle nightmares that never end. Blech.

The door slid open behind me and in the mirrored wall plate, I watched a thin man in a long brown robe walk up behind me. Great, a Sweterist. I took another drag from my cigarette and flicked it down into the core.

He cleared his throat and I turned away from him as I rolled my eyes. I knew where this was going. Freaking Sweterists.

“I believe you were brought here for a reason. Man does not travel space alone.”

I sighed and dug out another cigarette. “Look man, I’m just here for the heat. The rest of the ship is too goddamned cold.”

View this story's 6 comments.