The Last Laugh or This Is What Happens When You Jack Around In Space And Make Everyone Mad At You (ShoStoBloMo #7)
One cool thing about floating through space is that you go pretty slow. I’ve been out here for six hours and I’m just bobbing along, hanging out, taking in the sights. I guess if I was on a ship I would be going faster. Or if my suit thrusters hadn’t crapped out on me, then I might be streaking through the ether. As it is, I’m just kind of floating along, like a parade balloon, only without any tethers.
I probably shouldn’t have gone for the wrench. I’m thinking that was a bad idea. It should be the wrench floating aimlessly out here, not me. But I thought I could just grab it easy peasy. Turns out, not so much. So now I’m out here, on an endless trajectory.
At first I was hopeful. The station wasn’t that far away and surely someone would throw me a lifeline. A plus to floating away so slowly is that there’s plenty of time to engineer a rescue. But no one threw a lifeline, even though I saw them watching me through the portholes. I also saw my other crewmates packing up their tools from our repair mission, and reentering the station. I know they saw me, too. We were close enough to gain eye contact. It was Yankov who lost the wrench, for God’s sake – only three or four feet away from me. But no one responded to my pleas for help. No one tried to save me.
The hope I’d had turned pretty quickly to panic.Why was no one helping? Why weren’t they trying to reel me in? Even if they all hated me enough to let me rot in space, surely they would at least want their expensive equipment back. But I guess not, because no one came.
After the panic had time to subside, I began to regret some of my earlier actions on the station over the past few weeks. Living in close quarters with humorless people is not very fun so I had tired to lighten things up. What else was I supposed to do? In hindsight, though, dumping out the urine bags did make a pretty big mess (even though it was hilarious). And releasing the ant farm in the sleeping quarters made for some pretty awesome video to upload on BoobTube, but I guess that was kind of a crazy thing to do. I also guess it was a bad idea to spike the pudding pouches with tabasco. And no one was thrilled with me after I used a Sharpie to darken every other console light in the cockpit. It’s just that these guys are so serious all the time. No one has a sense of humor. Jeez.
I guess the real question now is, who’s having the last laugh, huh? Not me, that’s for sure. I can see the engines fire and the space station begin to move.
Away from me.
OK, I have decided that floating through space is not actually very cool. I have decided that being back on the Station eating spicy pudding would be way cooler. And also more survivable. Even if it means surviving with a bunch of humorless jerks.
My oxygen meter claims I have 10% left of my reserves. At least it’s pretty out here in the nothingness. Black, with distant stars. It’s like floating in your own thoughts. Or floating in your own sleep. Or maybe the lack of oxygen is just making me say strange things like that.
Speaking of strange things, did you know space smells like burnt steak? It totally does. When we come back into the station and hang our suits up, they always have this smell – vaguely metallic, with a twinge of something. It’s almost bloody. But good bloody, like a steak.
I would really like a steak right now. I would like anything other than to be here, abandoned by my crew. I lean my head forward and prop it on the big plexiglas bubble of my helmet.
I am drifting over some kind of nebula right now.