Tevun-Krus #116 - Horror SF

The Abyss In My Mind - A Short Story by @jinnis

The Abyss In My Mind

By jinnis

The darkness is absolute—the only thing I am sure of in this moment of devastation. I'm convinced there should be light in the cockpit, at least a dim illumination to help me find my bearings. Why can't I remember where the light switch is—or if there is a light switch? Shouldn't this wonder of human engineering work without switches? I reach out, and my gloved fingers brush over a smooth surface. I pull them back, rub them against my thigh. It is covered in fabric, but with the gloves, I can't feel its texture.

What did the instructions say about the waking process? I know there was something about recovering full awareness of all my senses. Cold sweat runs down my face and my neck. My lungs crave air, and I feel my chest expanding and contracting in an insane rhythm. This is not good. I must calm down, find my inner bearings. With a sharp twang, my ears pop and I hear my laboured breathing. At least an improvement—you're alive, girl, and everything will be fine. Just play it by the rules.

But what are the rules? Exhausted, I lean back on my cot and fall asleep.

Something startles me awake. A popping. Or an alarm? I listen, but the noise is gone. Aside from the blood rushing in my ears, nothing penetrates the silence of the capsule. There should be sound, though. The equipment always emitted a low hum in the simulator. But I'm not in the simulator anymore—this is the real thing. Right now, the emptiness of space surrounds me as my tiny ship is hurled towards the rim of the solar system.

Drugs sent me under before the Hermes left Earth. The engineers insisted it was the only way to ensure my body survived the acceleration during the initial stages of the flight. The trip to the moon seemed like a stroll around the block compared to my adventure. Also, they assured me I'd be awake when I was past the asteroid belt in time to see Jupiter. Not that the ship has windows, of course. Still, I'll be the first human to witness real time pictures of the big gas giant. A smile pulls at my lips.

But how will I see Jupiter in this blasted darkness? I jolt up and realise I'm strapped to the cot. A moment of panic sends my heartbeat soaring before I remember this is a standard safety measure and fumble to release the buckles. Once free, my weightless body drifts from the embrace of the cushions and my head bumps against a hard surface. Shit, I'm going to break my equipment or my bones if I can't see anything in here. When the buckles snap shut again and hold me in the safe embrace of the cot, I'm exhausted.

Shouldn't I be hungry? Or thirsty, at least? No, of course not. An infusion in my left arm supplies me with all the nutrition my body needs. If my foolish escapade before didn't break the link. I reach out, on the brink of panic again, but the tube seems intact as far as I can tell. While tiredness overwhelms me, I realise it must be pumping a sedative into my system at this very moment.

The next time I drift awake, the remembered voices of Dan, my husband, and my daughter, Cheryl, play in my head. I'll never forget the looks on their faces the day I got the news that I was selected for the mission. The first woman to travel beyond the solar system. I was so proud. My hard work over the years, the unlimited devotion to the program, paid out.

But my loved ones had mixed feelings. That day, I realised they had hoped I'd fail. It broke my heart, just like my selection broke theirs. Dan was there to wish me a safe journey when I left. He didn't bring Cheryl, though, didn't want to upset her, he said. She was only five. On my return, she will be a teenager of fifteen. Dan had left her with his sister. "She is happy with her cousins, and if I have to bring her up without her mom, I better start soon."

His words made sense, and still I felt betrayed. Have I made the right choice?

Hot tears burn in my eyes and blur the tiny amber dot to the left. I turn my head and reach out, but the light is gone.

As much as I strain my eyes, it doesn't return. Yet I'm sure I glimpsed something out of the corner of my eye. A sensor blinking. There must be a sensor to tell me the ship is on course and everything is fine. Just one little coloured dot to show me I'm sane. Please.

The light doesn't reappear. Maybe there never was a light—it might have been a trick of my mind. I run my hand over my eyes, trying to wipe away the cobwebs affecting my brain. But my fingers only fumble over the shield of my breathing mask, unable to touch my clammy skin.

I never felt so alone before. Perhaps the ship is still in the initial state of travel, the fully automated passage of the asteroid belt. This must be it. I'm probably still asleep, my unconscious mind playing tricks on me.

My thoughts drift into another phase of oblivion.

I open my eyes wide, but can't see anything in the darkness. My fingers clamp around the armrests while my body tries to compensate for unseen movements. Dizziness overwhelms me as I'm thrown back and forth by unpredictable direction changes. This feels like travelling through a lightless tunnel, a rollercoaster ride through the dark. I close my lids and try to suppress my anxiety. It's not real, you are safe in your bed. This is just another nightmare.

I concentrate on my breathing, in and out. The switchback sensation is replaced by one tumbling down a hole. Like Alice. I just hope there will be light soon. I'd welcome a white rabbit or even the Cheshire Cat's grin.

Instead, I lose myself in the darkness which swallows my mind.

The man's voice is muffled, but I can understand him when I strain my ears. "She might not recover, as it is."

"What do you mean, not recover?" I know this voice, but I can't place it.

"There is possibly brain damage. We can't be sure yet, and we're doing our best. There is another set of tests to run more tests before we should take a final decision."

I want to ask where I am and what's going on, but when I try to open my eyes, I can't. What happens to me?

The voices keep talking, but I'm too preoccupied with fighting down my rising panic to listen. Why is it so dark? Why can't I feel anything? I try to scream, but nothing happens. The voices keep talking as if I didn't exist. Perhaps I don't.

No, as long as I can hear voices, I am alive.

I strain my ears, try to make sense of the worlds floating through my personal darkness. But the harder I try, the more the voices blur into a grey noise and fade away, leaving me alone in the darkness. I fight against the nightmare swallowing my mind, the black hole sucking up my world. But my energy is subsiding fast. In the end, darkness is my only reality as the void gobbles up my tiny speck of life.