Sunny day, Wanda was in the kitchen making lunch. She called me with a smile to help her, so I left the game controller and rushed to give her aid. She laid a hand on me, straightened my shirt and slides her hand down my unshawed cheek.
I went behind the counter, took the knife and started cutting the vegetables. She had to go wash her hands, check the mail and put on the music. I follow her with a content grin as she went down the corner, got back to cutting when Sun reflected from the knife in my hand. My mind became hypersensitive. Microwave pounded in my head, whirring sounded so familiar like turret moving to a firing position.
Chopping sounds gained rhythm, the sound of blaster fire into the empty darkness, radio rustled with cries of help, dead soldiers drifting in the endless vacuum, lost in pitch black, something pulling them down. No point struggling inertia, no need waving your hands in the dark when there was nothing to grab on, just empty flappering.
The horror of falling down in the hole was there and the cries. The cries that were smothered by vacuum pressure, extinguishing like stars never to glow again. Some terrible noise, electronic buzz of the exploding systems, the ship is destroyed.
Darkness, complete, utter darkness like in a grave and you fall, you zoom through the air like rocket, you feel the force towing you somewhere. The panic. The anxiety jerking my hands, fingers don’t listen, knife slips away from a grip that decreases, I pull my hand like I was burned.
– Everything alright? – Wanda smiles at me, taking apple pie from the microwave, I smile back and nod my head.
At what point do I tell her something was carved out of me? How do I explain I am not a man that went out there in the unknown? How do I tell her, I left a piece of myself in the space and brought darkness in our home?