Just a Routine Supply Run

by Brittni Brinn

Phillipa screamed as the ship spun out of control, the moon filling the cracked viewwindow. Detritus pinged around like rogue meteors. An unsecured crate hurtled towards me—

Phillipa wasn’t screaming anymore. I hung from the back-seat harness like a climber over an abyss. At the bottom was a pile of crates and broken glass. My favourite coffee mug rested on top.

I laughed. Laughing even though I couldn’t get air, laughing to forget the blood, to put off the inevitable drop into broken glass. Laughing at the absurdity of a pristine coffee mug in the midst of so much destruction.

Brittni Brinn