Posts Tagged ‘space’

Collision Course by madfox43 on DeviantArt.com

I sigh.
Francine pops out of a waste disposal unit with a freaky alien mask.
I choke.
“Did I?” she asks.
“No,” I say.
Francine tells me a joke, a good one. I feel thirsty.
“What’s with you, Jack?”
“I must actually be dying of boredom.”
She smirks. “So even dying’s boring?”
“It might be the only exciting thing left.”
“I’ll cheer you up!”
Rolling my eyes, “Please, don’t try.”
She smiles. “Let’s—”
Alarms!
Our hands touch.
Boom! The sound of roaring metal!
I watch another ship tear into ours. It’s about to obliterate my face!
The hull looks dull.

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Monster by Disse86 on DeviantArt.com

I hate artificial gravity. Blood tastes best in zero-g. I love watching the wet globs twirl in the air; I love slurping the hot crimson beads as they float by. The thought of it makes my stomachs growl.

I can smell them now. They reek of sweat, and I wonder if they have showers on this freighter. They come into view, three pink fleshy dinners, and without warning my son leaps past me.

I curse his foolishness. He’s undisciplined. Still, my heart swells with parental pride as he slashes them open. Wasted blood paints the decks; I hate artificial gravity.

Space Oddity by Cikalong on DeviantArt.com

“Swords don’t breach hulls!”

“A gun kills at a hundred yards,” I argue.

“Name a shuttle that long.”

I feel stupid.

She runs a mutineer through.

At the airlock we suit up. She cycles the hatches.

The sword looks cartoonish in her glove.

Red lights flash and we’re out.

“Take my hand!” yells Veronica. I grab blindly and slice my glove open. I spin, venting gasses.

She clamps two hands on my wrist, stopping the purge.

“Your sword,” I say. It floats away.

“Your hand,” she replies. It’s frozen. Dead.

Maybe if we’re saved in time, both will be replaced.

Alien by patryk-garrett on DeviantArt.com

Thud. Click. Thud. Click. Thud.

Time is a snapshot as the emergency lights flash.

Red. Black. Red. Black.

Blood pools on the floor, a shadow creeping along the walls, slick and dangerous.

She’d slipped in it earlier. Ensign Cade had grunted when she landed on him. The sound escaped from the gaping maw that had been his throat.

A creeping shadow gnawed at the edges of the smiling wound. Laughing.

Thud. Click. Thud. Click. Thud.

Her blood pounds in her ears, contained, and behind her the beast follows.

A shadow passes the mouth of the corridor.

Thud. Click. Thud.

“Kill.”

Tentacles in Space by fightbeast on DeviantArt.com

Life support is down.
The corridor is dark and slick.
I raise my gun.
Artificial gravity quits as a tentacle latches onto my suit.
A Squeegee’s three-eyed mouth sticks to my faceplate.
I fire upward toward its brain. My arm is forced backward and there’s a clang and the cracking of bone.
The Squeegee floats, ripped to shreds by the bullet that now schrings as it ricochets.
Gravity’s back.  I’m slammed to the floor.
“Crap,” I mutter. My faceplate explodes and the air is pulled from my lungs.
Life support returns. I can take a breath and smell dead Squeegee.