Oh, The Horror!
I must escape!
I must flee!
But sanctuary is so impossibly far.
I gag!
I gasp!
I weep!
It is brimstone, It is cadavers, It is lethal gasses and deadly pollutants.
Hands claw at my throat, tear at my mask to no avail.
Can I not travel faster?
The airlock grows so slowly through the mist.
It burns, I blink away the pain, but my eyes refuse to focus.
There, numb fingers open the hatch, I crawl inside.
Watch the light.
Wait for it to turn green.
Rip off my helmet.
.
.
.
Advice: Never fart in your spacesuit.
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alt="Harbinger of Death by Jonathan L. Tolstedt"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Famine Man by Deborah Tapper"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="The Price of Belief by Andreas Flögel"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="The Abhartach's Thirst by Andrew Kurtz"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>