Spaceship Whip

The lights flashed angrily around her, cascading the room in bright bursts of warning red.  Logically, she knew that the lights had to be flashing, as that was their programming.  But there appeared to be no interruptions in the reds that highlighted the panicked faces of her crewmates.   They hung onto whatever nearby structure had not been compromised in the blast, arms straining against the pull of the slipstream.
Another horrifying screech of metal rang out over the screams, and the ship lurched forward, throwing her body violently up against the science station.  The breach in the hull expanded, the ship’s walls peeling outwards to reveal the starless, never-ending expanse of uncharted space.  Indifferent to the inhabitants who traveled within her fabric of space-time.  And unforgiving as her crewmates lost their hold.

Their screams were stolen as gravity launched them up in the air, and they fell into the slipstream: out of the light, into the void. 

Where she couldn’t save them.
“Space is disease and danger, wrapped in darkness and silence.”  Her guardian had said once. 

The red seared her skin, and she felt suffocated by the fluorescence of it- drowning and blinded in its emergency as they descended into the planet’s atmosphere below. Instinctively, her hold on the broken rail tightened.






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