Always wanted to write a space story. So here goes.
The condensation saturated his visor, blurring the small beads of light surrounded by the deep black that lay beyond them. Flooding his view, he drew a hand to wipe it away and remembered that it had spread within his helmet, so he let his hand fall back. Slowly, it receded, and as he held his breath, dissipated and vanished. He sighed, and it washed before his eyes again, only to pull back. He watched as it ran back and forth, hypnotized slightly by the repetitive action , and began to drift off. He thought of a beach, and then dreamt of an ocean. Which ocean, he did not know, only that it was vast and full of malicious things that meant him harm. Beneath the waters so old that man could not name them, he gazed upon a leviathan that drew its breath from the lungs of others. And then he woke, and remembered nothing.
He could see what it was, how far out and away the globe hung and stayed with some kind of magic reserved for wizards. Light traveled in spears through the void from the arc of the planet in a distressing pattern, almost as if it were shooting towards him. The stars, millions of them, peered out like the eyes of an audience, watching nervously as the man turned away from the blinding sunlight. He knew if he turned now, he could never turn back, that the stars he gazed upon would never know his eyes again, but still he continued with his trajectory and pressed on. Breathing slowly and rhythmically, he looked down and checked the remaining oxygen on his wrist display, and closed his eyes to the sound of clicks and ticks and beeps.
The pressure sensors lining his helmet flickered as unfamiliar readings grew and faded, and he attributed this to the depletion of his oxygen. I have never made it this far, he said silently in his head. It was darker this way, with very few stars hanging before him. Ahead and to his right, the remains of the ship that carried him so far, spun, ripped and shattered, in a sickening dance. He thought back to the fire, the sudden pressure change, and the sound of ripping paper in the center of his brain, and then the everlasting cold that surrounded him, ever watching, ever waiting, as he basked in the warmth of the sunlight at his back. It will not last, it said to him, and I will be here.
He looked down and saw that his hands and feet had slightly outstretched themselves. He had begun to panic, only briefly, but soon lost the mental capacity to even panic, forgot what was now happening to his body, and instead drifted back into a relaxed state. Peering forward into the darkness, he saw only the faintest bead of red, barely a glow, not even a twinkle. He thought briefly of the stars he saw only a few minutes before, but saw none now. Thinking quickly of a million reasons, he rested on the notion of his oxygen deprived brain, yearning for hope and circumstance. You know better, he said, this is the end.
No, he thought he heard, there is time.
He stopped breathing and listened to the silence that surrounded him and heard nothing more. He could feel his muscles aching from the explosion, his eyes were dry and his breath stale. Finally breathing again, he became dizzy and let his mind sift through memories. Old dreams filled his head, the woman in the woods, his teeth falling out, falling down stairs, among others. Unintentionally he began to hum to himself as he remembered, a song played by piano, a piano played by the girl. The song now could be heard, and his fingers twitched as the notes were struck. He could not remember where the song came from, where he had heard it, or the girl who played it. Again he saw the woman in the woods, her green eyes and red hair. He shuddered, forgot the song, and let his body rest again.
There was no feeling of motion, no sign of distance covered since his passing of the ship, and few things to see besides the deep void and the red dot in front of him. The aches subsided, and he continued to stare out into what lay ahead. There was nothing, no stars or planets, no stray gas pockets, nothing but the red spot in a sea of black. He closed his eyes looked behind his eyelids and saw the spot even there, burned into his retinas like he had been staring into the sun. He reopened his eyes and saw it there, floating so far away, lost like he was, alone in existence and unknown to anyone but him. It's known others, and I am coming, he suddenly heard, from the center of his head, between his ears. His heart rate increased and he jumped at the blaring alarm that sounded in his helmet. Eyes searching, he saw the blue flashing exclamation at the top of the visor. Beep tick, beep tick, beep tick.
The beeping continued along with the ticks, and he stared at his wrist display and saw that he only had 4 minutes left worth of oxygen. The suit restricted his intake to extend the amount of time he had left, and plastered useless safety protocols on his visor display. He could no longer read, so he ignored them and continued to stare out into space.
He lost feeling in his legs, and his mind began to spin and twist violently. His breathing was shallow now, and he could hear his lungs gasping for air. His chest fluttering, his eye lids jumping up and down, he began to slip into unconsciousness, and a rush of thoughts and memories exploded into his mind. The girl again, vivid and clear, stood at the base of a staircase and looked hopefully towards the doorway that he stood in. She walked quickly towards him and threw her arms around his neck, kissing him on his mouth for a long time. When he pushed her away and held her to look into her eyes, he could tell she was crying and he said the things he had to say and she cried even more. He could not remember what he had said but that it was terrible and that she would never forgive him for it. The thought was gone then, and the car replaced it as it sped down a hill into the city. He could see the man sitting behind the wheel and could hear the music that thumped as they raced closer and closer to the bottom of the hill. The man laughed and looked over at him and said something he thought was funny and tapped his hands to the beating of the music. The man looked down into his lap and could see where his shirt was torn and where blood had dried against his stomach. It was not his blood, he remembered, but he no longer knew who it belonged to. His mind started to cloud again, and he closed his eyes after checking his wrist. 1 minute, it read. His breathing had all but stopped, and he felt a deep pressure inside of his head. His chest burned and his body ached. It was done, he thought, and then he waited.