by K. L. Stein
that?
Taking her gloves off, she gripped the frozen metal in her hand and pulled. It didn’t budge. She tried again, nothing happened. The emergency program had frozen with the computer.
She threw her gloves back on and sealed the helmet around her neck, not wasting time on futile emotions. The smoke, although no longer choking her, blinded her vision. The fire no longer idly crawled across the floor. Red flames ate at the broken seat and above on the instrument dash, encroaching on the small personal space she had retreated to behind her seat.
She only had one more chance, if she could reach it.
Hidden behind a wall of black smoke and flames, the escape hatch became her sole focus. Thrusting through the wall of smoke and flames, she felt her skin melt beneath the thick suit. She fumbled in the darkness, feeling for the latch that would release the window. She had kicked it so many times resting back on the seat, but now, it eluded her.
Tears stung as they slid down her cheek, and sobs echoed in her helmet. This can’t be it, not like this. Her fingers slid against the wall. “Not like this,” she yelled out aloud as her hands grasped the rigid handle.
She pulled. The fire froze. Immediately all sound silenced.
Her skin hurt.
Turning her wrist over, she looked at the flashing red numbers, automatically started when the suit sealed, a descending and rhythmic countdown. Somehow that computer still managed to function, she fumed. With thirty minutes of oxygen, she’d only put off the inevitable.
Red, green, blue, red, green, blue.
Beyond her shoulder, the pale outline of her yellow cruiser had already disappeared to nothing. Her gasps increased as the warning beeps sounded around her. Her chest tightened as she struggled to find the right emotion. A chuckle shook her body, exaggerating the hysterics consuming her. Drifting away, she watched the familiar lights disappear under the brighter cosmos as she melted into the dark void of space, joining the distant stars.
Her mind raced trying to find something, someone who would miss her. Trying to find something she had left behind. Finally, she understood why they trained her for isolation. It wasn’t to strengthen her. It was to strengthen the program, a necessity to separate the explorers from everyone else. No one would notice she was gone. No one would care. No one had cared since that day when they dropped her off. In the harsh light of despair, the worthiness of her cause dematerialized. Painful sobs racked her body until the tears ran dry and all that was left was a numb shell of emotion.
The steady rhythm of red light pulsing on her shoulder grabbed her attention. Under the red beam, highlighted like a fresh wound, her mission patches seemed to bleed. Not even her name, Talia Boone stayed pristine. She lost count of her awards, feeling no consolation in their honor.
She had explored the galaxy, but now, on her final journey, she regretted how little she had actually travelled. In the last moments, only the regrets stood out.
With her eyes closed, she wished her heart would slow. The erratic beats slowly fell into line, a soft bump under the soft hum of the monitoring system. Letting go of the fight, she let her mind numb, allowed her consciousness to blend into the electronic noise, and embraced the emptiness.
Struggling to breathe, each breath constricted against her chest. An invisible enemy seemed to tighten its grasp with every intake of air.
Hollowness filled her. She opened her eyes slowly, expecting the darkness to swallow her whole. Instead the myriad of stars blended together in a haze of interconnected lights, rhythms, and pattern. One color streamed into another, emblazing the dark sky. New tears stung, refusing to fully disappear or release, waiting instead in a flood on the edge.
Time stretched and more star clusters and patterns appeared. Squinting at the stars, she wondered when she became blind to the beauty around her. At some point, she had forgotten to see them as more than a map.
Red, green, blue, red, green, blue.
THE END
Author Bio
K.L. Stein is a storyteller at heart. Born and raised in Southern California, she moved to the Pacific Northwest to follow her dreams and graduated from Oregon State University with a degree in Forest Management. Happily married and a mother of two, she lives in the foothills of Colorado. When she’s not writing an adventure, she’s busy living one.
Website: www.kirstinstein.com
Published Works
The Factory
Short Stories
The Ivory Tower
Boone’s Journey
