Dear Harttz…

In science fiction, when someone breaks the air lock on the ship, the lack of pressure in space seems to suck everything out. That might happen in reality too, but the space nerds will correct you: the pressure that exists within the air lock actually pushes everything out into space.

Usually that happens on purpose, because people don’t want to be indiscriminately thrown into space. But normal space happenings aren’t what you read about, watch on tv, or play in the movies. There it’s a bullet, a missile, or a bomb that breaches the hull and the contents of the ship gnaw at it until inside becomes outside.

After this catastrophic collision, can you imagine floating in space, holding on desperately to your last breath as it tries to push its way out of your throat? That part is instinct, assuming you remembered to hold your breath in the first place. Could you remain calm while you float away from your life lines?

You are that collision, and I find myself fading in and fading out, passing out and waking up. I remember the moments before like Polaroids taped haphazardly to the wall: breathing was easy; no pressure at all; and the sun was a manageable prop. During… I haven’t the faintest idea what happened. After is so hard to describe: I am “here”, now, but I think I was “over there”, before. Relativity makes it seem simple, but as my only point of reference is floating away, I realize that this simple reference held everything I thought I was.

I keep thinking “what happens if I die?” but… what if I live?

Posted Thursday, December 29th, 2011 under Uncategorized.

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