Wednesday, July 6, 2011


“You sure you want to do that, chief?”

“No choice, we’re dead no matter how you cut it. Better at our own hands than theirs. Help me turn the handle.” Dale replied. Nothing like having his brother, Zack, question his abilities.

Dale’s hand reached out for the right side of the circular handle. Zack grabbed the other side.

“Now listen, when we open this hatch, it’s gonna suck us through quicker than soda through a straw. Could knock us unconscious. Could rip our helmets off. Be ready. Once we get oriented, turn on your jet pack and set your bearing to .456. That should take us to our ship.”

“What if one of us is knocked out. Then what?” Zack asked

“We can’t worry about each after that. Once we’re out there, don’t worry about me and I won’t worry about you. On my count, turn the handle. 1 – 2 – 3!” Dale yelled.

They turned the handle clockwise. At first, it moved slowly, but as they loosened it’s tightly closed grip, it moved fast. Before they had a chance to open it all the way, the vacuum of space sucked it out along with Dale and Zack. The force of the pull whipped them out and they slammed into each other. The force didn’t knock them out, but they faced each other; their helmets touching.

“Jet packs on,” Dale said.

But before they could do anything, they saw the crack caused by their collision in their helmets. They only had seconds to say goodbye, and neither got the chance.