I woke up in a daze. Damn, my head was throbbing. At first, my eyes were squinting, adjusting to my upside down angle. In space, you never know which way is up. Around me, shrapnel and supplies motionlessly float inside the main room. My body begins to move again slowly.
I move my body, and I wince in pain. In my abdomen is a fire. A piece of piping has plunged itself inside of me. It sticks through my back. I’m weak, and I don’t know if I have the supplies to heal myself. I don’t even possess the knowledge. If I die, there is no difference either way. With Earth gone, I am now the last human in existence. No other human to contact. I’m isolated.
Lights blink viciously in a red, cautionary manner while lights that should be on and never off are off. I grab a piece of jagged metal sticking out. I extend my hand towards it, making sure to avoid the exposed wires. I lift myself to the control board, wiping debris from my eyes as I glide to a pair of handles.
The communication malfunction button is flashing. I don’t know how long it’s been flashing. Hell, I don’t even know how long I’ve been unconscious. I mean, I could be dead now for all I know. This could be hell. Certainly not heaven. At least I hope not.
I press down on the button. “Hello,” I say. I knew I wouldn’t get a response. All I got was silence. Another light catches my eye. A green light shows the oxygen levels have been breached. I look out of my front window. I can’t see much. It’s covered with dust and matter from Earth. I remember when the explosion was happening I slowly saw the Earth crack open like an egg. I think from what I remember, a chunk of India was the last thing I saw coming towards me.
Oh no, Lynn! Jesus Christ! Damn it. I’m too tired to wave about in anger. I can’t cry. I’m unsure right now if it’s because I’m floating about in outer space or my body is finally beginning to deteriorate.
Outside of the window, I could see the vast majority of my space shuttle floating about two-hundred feet away from me. I’m confined to just the cockpit. Luckily, it’s spacious enough to swim around in. It should delay the claustrophobia. I know I’m going to suffocate. The room to fix any oxygen problems is on the skeleton of the ship two-hundred feet away. Now all I’m left with is the emergency supply in the cockpit.
I can feel my air supply fading. The control of my body is beginning to weaken. There is no one to help me anymore. My breathing gets heavy, and each breath takes longer. My spacesuit keeps me warm as the cold starts in my bones. It’s so cold. Soon I will see you, Lynn.