Getting cold now.

The only noise the constant hum of the CO2 scrubbers. How long they’ll last is anyone’s guess.

Hinchman has killed the rest of the crew I think . Don’t know exactly where he is right now but that man has blown a major fuse.

Could be cabin fever. I don’t know, something that got missed on the pre-mission psych eval. Too late now to do anything about that.

I need to get to the galley, get some food. So hungry now.

Trouble is, these corridors just call out for an ambush. That’ll just make my day to have Hinchman float up behind me with that wild look on his face. I’ve seen his handiwork on the others. No thank you.

Got to think. But so hungry, and breathing getting difficult. Scrubbers getting wasted.

Valerie and the kids are probably putting up Easter decorations. Told them I’d be home.

This will be tough on Jenna, especially. She takes being the eldest so seriously.

Commlinks are all disabled, thank you Major Hinchman. They won’t get a rescue party here in time to make a difference.

Over the subcontinent right now. How I’d love to be able to transport down, and get some good spicy food. A nice cold Kingfisher Ale.

Where is he?

Do I force a confrontation and hope for the best? If I don’t, I’ll just starve here. Maybe pass out.

I step out into the corridor. Just the hum of the scrubbers still.

It’s dark. Emergency LED’s are on but they don’t shed much light on anything.

Shadows everywhere. Hum.

It’s nearly black as space in here.

I feel so alone.

I’m terrified.

I’ll just look out this port for a while.

The Earth is such a beautiful blue.


I’ve always been fascinated by the sense of isolation astronauts must feel out in the immensity of space, dwarfed by the earth. And I have a recurring image that pops into my head every now and then of a darkened space station with only two living people (or things) on it. There’s isolation, conflict, and longing for the blueness of home. Family. Just decided to put myself there for a few minutes. “Blue” was the result.

Photo by Bruce Irving


About Bob Bois

Bob Bois is a writer living in the old, mysterious hills of Central Massachusetts. He blogs his horror flash fiction at View all posts by Bob Bois

One response to “Blue…

  • Suzanne

    Bob, I can feel the loneliness… and the weariness from trying to avoid Hinchman. Maybe if I just rest by this window I won’t have to make any more decisions about what to do next.

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