The dying ship speaks: "Oxygen level critical." He slides down a bulkhead. The wrench slips from his grasp. His eyes mist. His limbs are lead.
Then he sees her: his truest love... before he lost her. Skin glistening, eyelashes soft.
He hears her... "Hello, my love."
"That was so long ago," she whispers. His lungs ache.
He feels her... gentle fingertips inside his gloves; soothing palms against his chest. Where his lips thin to blue, hers are full and red. Where his breath fails, hers is sweet, catching his last.
So he does as she says.
Rodindeadpan almost 7 years ago
Rodindeadpan sheds a tear.