Butterfly

In the dirty light of the hold Vince inspected his mottled blue skin. He didn’t have much time. Dropping down from his bunk, he slunk past slumbering refugees fleeing a world devastated by war and disease.

A disease he had unwittingly brought aboard.

The thrum of the hyperdrive masked his footsteps down the oily veins of the ship. The blue was spreading fast, his mind losing focus.

He had to get to the airlock, flush himself into space.

Vince reached for the console, his hand completely covered, the airlock interior beckoning.

Yet.

He needed to feed.

Vince retraced his steps.