When I first laid eyes on him, I could hear the armour plates of his suit clank and grind together. The sounds rang clear in my mind even with the vacuum of orbit clawing at us both. He hung there, a black outline against a black background. It took an eternity for me to toggle my radio and issue the standard warning.
“Unidentified space-walker, you are entering a restricted volume. Remove yourself or you will be removed.” I felt like someone else was speaking. I raised my gloved hand to point, more aware than ever of the thin film separating my flesh from the void. Even the hiss of the radio seemed to whisper faint threats, violence attenuated across the billions of years between here and the big bang.
He was much closer now, and I could smell the sour stench of my sweat. It boiled up into my helmet, forcing its way into my nostrils. I tried to focus. He was closer again, not seeming to traverse the distance between points, but simply blinking between them. My radio blared and a voice clawed its way into my skull.
“How are you here? How did you get into my home?”
Written as part of Sunday Photo Fiction.
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