Tabula Rasa

I’d heard stories from some of the older guys. They had been around before the increased radiation forced them to shut up the windows, so they had stories, but having never seen outside the ship you cannot get a sense for it. The vastness of it. The sheer infinity of your experience. I tried to remember my training as I spun through space: Never take your helmet off; Don’t panic; Always stay close to the ship. As I spun round, I looked to where the ship was now. I could still see it in the distance, light glinting off it’s fragments. I should have been scared. We were taught to never leave the safety of the ship, it was too dangerous. The radiation was too strong and there was no oxygen. Never take your helmet off. Always stay close to the ship. The ship was an oasis of safety in this desert inhospitable nothingness. After the turmoil of the last days on Earth, safety was everything. My breath was starting to catch — the oxygen meter pulsing red. I wanted to experience the feel of space, this nothingness, on my skin. I took my helmet off. I breathed in. They’d lied.