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The room was bright and dark at the same time, but silent more than anything. In front of Patrick Evans was a giant mirror where he could see his disheveled hair, muddy face, and shirt inflated from bandages wrapped around his body like a mummy. He tried not to look at it. He had a…
The urban rainstorm thwacked into the splintered sidewalks outside the Bachman Gallery where a neon red ‘OPEN’ sign flickered and sung a zapping tune to no one. As the minutes crept closer to 9pm, Jan Bachman’s jittering fingers quickened upon the desk almost matching the pattern of the rain. His eyes darted between the front…
Steam rolls around our ship. The capsule’s vibrations are deafening. Metal clangs, aluminum overheats and crackles like popcorn. My own breathing distorts my colleagues’ headsets. And then there’s that commanding voice from millions of miles away. “Five. Four. Three.” The shaking seems endless. We are thoroughly trained astronauts, but something about the combination of waking…
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