in Short Fiction

Alone

Sarah gasped for breath as she stumbled back to the Habitat. The air was leaking out of her spacesuit but she couldn’t focus on that. She was well beyond that. Five more steps. Her back ached. Her arms ached. Her head throbbed. Four more steps. The unending alarm screeching into her ears seemed almost to fall on deaf ears now. The door. The button. They slid open and she fell inside. Thankfully, the Habitat was still pressurised. Still had oxygen. That sweet oxygen.

Sarah coughed as she started to get back her breath. She couldn’t believe they had left without her. She struggled back on to her feet and stumbled to the window and saw the red, dry expanse spreading out until the horizon. She was now the first space pirate. The first pirate who would never see the sea. She shuddered at the thought. Her back ached. Her arms ached. Her head throbbed and she collapsed to the floor.

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