“Houston… do you copy?”

Dark, cold, vacuous nothing.

I’m tumbling, my world quickly passing through my vision…. Australia … Antarctica… stars… Milky Way… Asia… Australia again…

I monitor my air supply: it’s dropping too quickly. I must calm down but I cannot.

This suit is too bulky and I can’t think straight, can’t know if what I touch with my clumsy hands is what I want to adjust. No ifs, ands or buts about it, my situation is critical: I am dying. I must wait but for what?

“Houston… do you copy?”

Nothing but static. How do I know that I’m actually transmitting? I don’t; I must simply trust that I am. I must do what I was taught to do: stay calm, focus, and follow standard protocols.

I start to think about family, but it hurts too much.

“Houston, do you copy?”

Drifting in an uncaring galaxy, my familiar and familial world right at hand. Gravity will soon start to drag my body back down but I will not go with it.


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