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Weekly Contest #52
The moon demands blood. Or so the clerics said. Colonel Moritz repeated my flight instructions as I was strapped into the cockpit. His attendants completed a pre-flight inspection, before slipping the helmet over my head and, with a sharp hiss, I was isolated from the Earth’s atmosphere. I had a sudden thought that I may never breathe it again. I trembled in my seat as the Colonel finished and shook my hand. I realized I hadn’t been listening to anything he had been saying. The flight crew left, the reflective antimicrobial surface...
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