How long have I been floating here...
How long will I drift like this through the void of space...
Am I even alive...
If I am then how am I still alive...
The stars don't speak.
The silence is thicker than the dark.
My suit's oxygen readout blinked out... what? Minutes ago? Hours?
The ticking stopped. I can't remember when.
I try to move just a finger.
There's a tingle. That's something.
Maybe this is death.
Or maybe this is what being forgotten feels like.
A ghost with a pulse.
A dot on a screen that no one's watching anymore.
I remember my life before all this.
The sun shining down on me,
The gravity weighing me down.
I was always looking up…
Dreaming of stars, of escape, of more.
But I never really seemed to appreciate what was below me.
The dirt beneath my feet.
The breath in my lungs that didn't need a machine.
The people. The noise. The warmth.
It all seemed so heavy back then.
Now, I'd give anything to feel that weight again.
Out here, there's no up.
No down.
Just drift.
I chased the stars…
And now they're all I have.
They always said space was cold, but I don't feel anything at all.
I think that's almost worse, if only I could feel it. Feel something...
I try to recall how I got here.
But memories come in shards, jagged and blurred.
A cold touch, metal under my gloves, strange symbols glowing faintly.
A whisper in a language I don't understand, echoing inside my helmet.
Light bending and twisting, folding the corridors of the ship like paper.
Faces, friends or something else, distorted, silent, eyes hollow and endless.
A voice calling me by name, soft but urgent, pulling me closer.
Then pain.
And silence again.
I was supposed to be part of a mission. Something important.
But now, I'm just a ghost drifting between the stars.
The darkness and the silence close in from all sides.
My eyelids grow heavy.
I try to fight it, but the void is the sweetest lullaby.
Sleep offers no solace.
Darkness swallows me, but it's not empty.
Shapes shift and twist at the edges of my vision. Faces I can't quite recognize. Voices I almost remember.
Whispers slither through the void, calling my name in tongues I don't understand.
A flash of red.... Pain...
Metal groans around me, warping as if alive, bending beyond reason.
Cold fingers brush my skin, but when I look, nothing's there.
I'm running, but my legs won't move.
The stars bleed, dripping like ink across the sky.
A door looms ahead, carved with symbols that burn into my mind. Twisting, impossible glyphs that seem to writhe when I blink.
I reach out.
And wake, gasping.
Heart pounding in the endless silence.
But it isn't silent.
There's a hum. Low, steady, mechanical.
I feel weight. A bed beneath me.
The air tastes recycled.
Dim lights press against my eyelids as they struggle to stay open.
I am no longer in the void.
I blink slowly.
White ceiling.
Faint vibrations in the floor beneath the bed.
A soft beep to my left. Monitors. Medical.
Sterile walls. Dim blue lights.
Someone found me.
I turn my head with effort. Tubes in my arm. Sensors on my chest. Oxygen mask.
The suit is gone.
My skin aches. My muscles feel wrong.
The door is shut. No windows.
But I know I'm moving. This is a ship.
I try to speak. My throat is raw.
Nothing comes out.
A screen above the bed flickers to life.
Text appears slowly, like someone typing.
"You are safe. Rest."
Safe.
The word feels strange.
I remember the dream. The voices. The glyphs.
I don't feel safe.
I feel observed.
The walls are too smooth. Too quiet.
There are no shadows, but I feel them anyway.
The monitor still blinks. Waiting.
I lift a hand slowly. My fingers obey, stiff and weak, but alive.
Another line appears on the screen.
"Vitals stabilizing. Subject conscious."
Subject.
Not patient. Not survivor.
Subject.
Something clicks softly behind the wall. Mechanical, distant.
Like a door unlocking. Or locking.
A soft hiss, like breath through teeth.
My chest tightens.
I don't know where I am.
I don't know who found me.
And I don't know if they meant to.