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Weekly Contest #354
I’ve grown tired of seeing my reflection in the glass of my helmet, a stranger with her gaunt eyes and cracked lips staring back at me. At least I won’t have to for much longer. The stale, dry air of so many recycled breaths inside my suit is growing dangerously thin on oxygen. The last canister of air beeps loudly. Not long left then. My heartbeat quickens with the realization, but I also feel a sense of peace. This ordeal is almost over. I haven’t broken or allowed myself to cry since that first day when a rogue rock nearly split my hull ...
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