Firstclass Pov ~upd~ Link

Because I’m First Class. And First Class means you go first, yes. But it also means you go alone. Every other human being is down there, under that blanket of atmosphere, breathing real air, feeling rain on their faces, arguing about stupid things that don’t matter. And I’m up here, touching a scorch mark on a dying machine, wondering if I’ve forgotten what it feels like to want something.

And I am so tired of being first.

Click. The coupling seats. I check my pressure gauge. All green. I’ve been out here two hours. My oxygen is at seventy-four percent. Plenty of time. firstclass pov

I unstick my glove from the hull. “On my way, Commander.” Because I’m First Class

“Copy.”

I pull myself toward the airlock. Hand over hand. Breathing in, breathing out. The Earth rises behind me, blue and green and white and so beautiful it makes my chest hurt. I don’t cry this time. I’m out of tears. Every other human being is down there, under

There’s a rhythm to spacewalking. A liturgy. Clip in. Check tether. Turn bolt one-quarter. Wait for the click. Turn again. Count breaths. Don’t think about the fact that you’re wearing a flimsy bag of nylon and hope between your skin and the most hostile environment imaginable.