Drifting

The radio is gone.  Everything is so silent.

They're not coming to get me, are they?

They're not coming to get me.  It seems strange to me, but I can't say I blame them.  I'm wondering how I survived being thrown off of the ship myself.  They must certainly think I'm gone.

Won't be too long until they're right.

The worst thing about all of this is that there's nothing else I can do.  Best I can tell, we passed through a deep-space debris field.  My turn to head out to the hull to do routine maintenance and this happens. Figures, doesn't it?  In any case, my thrusters are shot to hell.  My radio must have been hit by some rock or another.  Can't move, can't tell anyone that I can't move.  Worse yet, they can't radio out to me to see if I'm alright.  For all they know, I'm already gone.

Too bad I couldn't have taken a rock to, well, anywhere on my suit.  Or to my oxygen tanks.  Would've saved me the trouble of thinking about all of this.

I can still see the rings of the ship.  They keep getting smaller.  Drifting forwards towards a new world.

Or am I drifting away?

Everything else is all so black. Dropped off between planets, left to admire such perfect darkness. If I weren't about to die, it would be one of the more beautiful things I've ever seen. But context matters, I guess.

And the silence.  So unbroken.  No static, no chatter, no nothing.  I never thought I'd experience something so serene.  If this is what it takes, though, I prefer noise.

Now, if they're not coming, I can either drift through space aimlessly until I dehydrate, or make this quicker.

Let's uncouple this helmet, shall we?