What happens when you can't even recognize your own parents, but you're able to identify the most notorious playboy in school? //
Asher Thomas lives in a world where she isn't able to recognize people's faces, including those of her parents and even...
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The astronaut stands before the hatch, fully suited. He barely pays attention to the captain that echoes the guidelines and safety measures. His voice is a drone, a monotonous buzzing that the astronaut wants to bat away.
His first spacewalk. Now. The hatch hisses open, a doorway leading to another world. "Don't let your awe get to you," the captain reminds him. "Do your mission. Get statistics on the space junk."
The astronaut nods hastily, edging towards the threshold. His giant boots are clunky, awkward weights. It feels as if he is walking with stones tied to his ankles.
"What're you waiting for?" The captain laughs, the first words that the astronaut even remotely listens to. "Get out there, sport."
With a slight intake in breath, the astronaut pushes off from the edge. He holds his hands out, weightless, letting out a loud laugh. He is not sure he can return to Earth and be satisfied ever again.
"Space debris to your left. Five kilos," the captain announces through the astronaut's earpiece.
"Roger," he chokes out, barely able to utter a word. For, there, in front of him, the Earth pivots and turns, as if caught up in some fast-paced dance. The windows did no justice – the astronaut is out here, in the same vicinity as his home planet. It is surreal. No picture, no memory, could ever amount to this.
"You're stretching the line, sport. Step back. Over."
The astronaut glances around, suddenly realizing that the shuttle is far, far away, and he is in fact swimming towards the planet. With shaky fingers, he begins keying in numbers, fingers slipping and sliding. His training leaves him in a heartbeat. He is now a stammering mess, caught in the aura of the blue planet, not close enough to the space junk that he should be examining. Too far from the planet. Too far from the debris.
The astronaut experimentally edges closer. He pauses, waiting, but when he remains intact, he floats a bit closer to earth.
It was at this moment, this millisecond, all hell broke loose. He did not even notice it at first – a little nudge at his back, then nothing. It was when he realized his supply of oxygen was dwindling did he turn, and realize.
The white line floats through space like a snake, lazy and lashing. Taunting the astronaut, drifting towards him, then pulling back. Too far. He lunges towards the open end, but in antigravity, he barely moves an inch. He churns his arms and legs, losing oxygen and strength quickly, but it does nothing to propel him forward. The captain raised concerns. The astronaut was too entranced with the blue planet to grasp this.
He opens his mouth to scream, but no one can hear a dying man in space but himself. He opens his mouth to suck in oxygen that is not there, vainly tries to kick himself towards the ship. Nothing, nothing. He leaves himself weary and exhausted. His lungs burn and his muscles scream, but the astronaut has not accomplished anything.
He thinks back to his exuberance before his spacewalk, counting down the minutes and the seconds. How excited. How naïve. Too late, he realizes this, as he is dying.
The astronaut's eyes slide closed, his vision as black as the galaxy around him. Perhaps, the pretty woman that joined him by the window can finish his mission.
