The Blank

"Damnit!"

Mitch slammed his fist against the display screen in rage. Droplets of red dropped from his knuckles and shards of glass scattered on the deck. The alarms stopped, but only because of the system he had just destroyed. He was still majorly screwed.

The damage of the emergency signals did not reach the lights, and red beams continued to flash across the walls of The Bitch.

Mitch and his wife, Brianna, had laughed at the name of his ship the first time they came up with it, since both their names combine to be the sophisticated title of "The Bitch". However, Mitch was no longer laughing.

The hull screeched as if the metal itself was crying out in pain. For a moment, Mitch was still, collapsed over the steering panels, as red lights flickered around him. He took in a long, deep breath, and thought through his situation.

So, he thought, the power crystal exploded, which basically gives energy to, well, everything. All systems are down except the emergency life support systems. And the lights, apparently. I have two weeks worth of food and water left, which doesn't matter because I will be out of oxygen in a little under four days. Damn cheap emergency life support. There's no hope of reaching the nearest planet because I am a week away from the nearest planet, and I have no way to steer or move this shitty hunk of junk!

Mitch kicked the wall then, which made his toe bruise but otherwise had no effect. His gaze fell on the window, and his vision became sucked into the image of space. He had heard stories of what happened to men when they are stranded, isolated in the black. He didn't know what the right word to describe space was. Black? Empty? Those weren't right. But he could feel his mind spinning from it.

Mitch quickly looked away. He was going to die, yes, but he was going to die with his brain intact.

"Just don't start talking to yourself," he said, to himself.