::: CHAPTER TWO :::
I was suffocating. I thought of the numerous stories of cats stealing a child's breath at night, and I for some strange reason desperately hoped it was night. If I was going to step into an early death by hands holding my throat closed, I wanted it at least to be in congruence with the myth. The myth that in the light nothing like this can happen. My body felt small. I realized in a second's worth what people that were buried alive must have felt. Then in a shocking and deadening moment, I realized that there was air. The air filled my lungs and disappointment filled my heart. Death had not come. Now I would have to patiently wait and be bombarded by fear-inducing questions such as are there any survivors? . . . How long will I have to wait till they find me? . . . Will they find me?
What seemed like eternity passed, and I heard feet shuffling. I heard strange, disembodied voices. The language was not English and this angered me. I wanted to understand, and I wanted to shout for freedom from a stupid tube that couldn't be unlocked from the inside. The hatch was lying next to my right leg. It had fallen off and there wasn't enough space to kick. Frustration was soon taking over the blood in my veins and by the time I heard clanging I was boiling. Sweat was pooling at my hair line and my thoughts had turned frivolous. I couldn't believe how many layers of clothing I had on. Was I crazy when picking out my identity? The door suddenly opened, and I rolled out on my back. Strange faces were staring down at me, and I got the distinct impression that they might take out sticks and poke me as if I was some foreign alien child. To keep from lashing out, I said the first thing that sounded neutral.
"Somethin' went wrong, huh?"
Relief swept over their worried faces. I still don't know what they thought I was going to do. Cry? The only time I ever cried was over my own selfish nature. Soon they ventured away from me, and I was thankful for being alone again. It was hard to be around people when they knew I was a girl, but being around people and faking being a boy was brutal, fist-clenching work.
I grumbled to myself. I should have know better than thinking destiny wouldn't find me in the coldness of space. It was so typical for things to be calm and then suddenly unravel and twist around as if I was a kitten playing with a ball of yarn. Except the ball of yarn was my life, and it had the ability to wrap its red, itchy rope around my neck and squeeze. I looked around. It was hot as hell. Presences were fluttering around me. There must have been some kind of commotion somewhere. My disorientation held me still, and it became very difficult to make any type of choice. I didn't know if I should help or just flee and look for another ship. I was reluctant to do either.
The scream vibrated through the broken ship. My ears perked up almost instantly. Someone was dying. I mindlessly followed the others and came to a stop when I saw a distressed tiny blond over a man that looked like a hyperventilating version of comedy. This made me pity him. Everyone should have the chance to die silently and alone, but this poor man's life was crawling away from him with a room full of strangers gawking. I almost wanted to turn my head away but sheer, morbid fascination of the rod sticking out of him kept me watching. For a moment, I thought she was going to pull it out but then she curtly ordered us to leave. I didn't want to but was forced when a government rent-a-cop came and dragged me away. Resentment started to built for him.
I was alone. Actually people were milling around but inside, where it truly counted, I was alone. My heart grinned maliciously and my soul soared with contempt. It crashed down on me like a boulder. I was probably the cause for the death of more then half of the passengers and even more so for the handful of survivors, who found themselves on a non identifiable planet with three suns-stranded. It seemed life had a cruel sense of humor. My doomed luck seemed to actually be transferring to others now.
I was suffocating. I thought of the numerous stories of cats stealing a child's breath at night, and I for some strange reason desperately hoped it was night. If I was going to step into an early death by hands holding my throat closed, I wanted it at least to be in congruence with the myth. The myth that in the light nothing like this can happen. My body felt small. I realized in a second's worth what people that were buried alive must have felt. Then in a shocking and deadening moment, I realized that there was air. The air filled my lungs and disappointment filled my heart. Death had not come. Now I would have to patiently wait and be bombarded by fear-inducing questions such as are there any survivors? . . . How long will I have to wait till they find me? . . . Will they find me?
What seemed like eternity passed, and I heard feet shuffling. I heard strange, disembodied voices. The language was not English and this angered me. I wanted to understand, and I wanted to shout for freedom from a stupid tube that couldn't be unlocked from the inside. The hatch was lying next to my right leg. It had fallen off and there wasn't enough space to kick. Frustration was soon taking over the blood in my veins and by the time I heard clanging I was boiling. Sweat was pooling at my hair line and my thoughts had turned frivolous. I couldn't believe how many layers of clothing I had on. Was I crazy when picking out my identity? The door suddenly opened, and I rolled out on my back. Strange faces were staring down at me, and I got the distinct impression that they might take out sticks and poke me as if I was some foreign alien child. To keep from lashing out, I said the first thing that sounded neutral.
"Somethin' went wrong, huh?"
Relief swept over their worried faces. I still don't know what they thought I was going to do. Cry? The only time I ever cried was over my own selfish nature. Soon they ventured away from me, and I was thankful for being alone again. It was hard to be around people when they knew I was a girl, but being around people and faking being a boy was brutal, fist-clenching work.
I grumbled to myself. I should have know better than thinking destiny wouldn't find me in the coldness of space. It was so typical for things to be calm and then suddenly unravel and twist around as if I was a kitten playing with a ball of yarn. Except the ball of yarn was my life, and it had the ability to wrap its red, itchy rope around my neck and squeeze. I looked around. It was hot as hell. Presences were fluttering around me. There must have been some kind of commotion somewhere. My disorientation held me still, and it became very difficult to make any type of choice. I didn't know if I should help or just flee and look for another ship. I was reluctant to do either.
The scream vibrated through the broken ship. My ears perked up almost instantly. Someone was dying. I mindlessly followed the others and came to a stop when I saw a distressed tiny blond over a man that looked like a hyperventilating version of comedy. This made me pity him. Everyone should have the chance to die silently and alone, but this poor man's life was crawling away from him with a room full of strangers gawking. I almost wanted to turn my head away but sheer, morbid fascination of the rod sticking out of him kept me watching. For a moment, I thought she was going to pull it out but then she curtly ordered us to leave. I didn't want to but was forced when a government rent-a-cop came and dragged me away. Resentment started to built for him.
I was alone. Actually people were milling around but inside, where it truly counted, I was alone. My heart grinned maliciously and my soul soared with contempt. It crashed down on me like a boulder. I was probably the cause for the death of more then half of the passengers and even more so for the handful of survivors, who found themselves on a non identifiable planet with three suns-stranded. It seemed life had a cruel sense of humor. My doomed luck seemed to actually be transferring to others now.