Oct 10, 2010 03:03
Sam was so cold. He was shivering, bundled up in his land-suit, the glass of his helmet covered in dried, stinking blood.
He was dying. The sun, or something, was in his eyes. He imagined Eve, his daughter. For the past three years of his life, all he'd wanted was to get back to her, to get back to Tess.
It seemed, though, all he lived for, it meant nothing. Tess was gone, and Eve had someone else.
His life was over. He felt bad for himself, but he had come to terms with it, over the past few days. He was dying. Hopefully this new Sam, this young Sam, would make it back to Earth - make it to Earth, at all - and make a life for himself.
He closed his eyes, shivering violently.
The light passed his eyelids and he opened them again.
He spat, his saliva was thick from dehydration and dried, clotted blood. It dribbled down his already bruised, swollen chin. The light was different. He was not on Sarang.
...he wasn't even on the moon.
He felt strangely well enough to lift his arms, something that he hadn't felt comfortable with for days now.
His hands went up, and he unfastened the helmet of his astronaut suit, pulling it off his head gingerly.
"...what?"
He spat again, to the ground this time.
arrival