blackhole

by Rachel Racette

The metal beneath her hands is warm. Warm and sticky with fluid, causing goosebumps to rise on her exposed skin. She sucks in another breath through clenched teeth, tasting copper at the back of her throat.

In.... and out. In.... and out. She presses harder. Trembling, muscles burning as she fights to hold on. To do something while everything falls apart around her.

Blurry vision, her fallen tears floating in spheres of water around her head, she watches the swirling vortex of darkness and death. A massive blackhole that’s slowly sucking in the other darkened ships filled with soon-to-be-dead passengers. Passengers she was supposed to look after. People she was supposed to keep safe and happy. She still hears them --those agonized screams over the screeching sirens—even though her radio has long since been filled with useless noise. Mind-numbing static fills the otherwise silent cockpit.

It's so cold. Her chest feels tight. Because of her purposeful shallow breaths, or is the air already thinning out now with so little power left? She squints in the dim light but can only see blurred blobs of color and flashing lights. Right. She lost her glasses when they were hit.

Her hand slips. Metal scraps across her palms. She gasps, turning back to her partner. She presses hard while wrapping her other hand around his arm to keep him close. With the artificial gravity compromised she has to fight to keep pressure on the wound.

For all the good it’ll do. A part of her mind hisses. She grits her teeth. Dark spots flickering in her vision. She twists, bracing her forearm against the wound. What's the point? Her oxygen-deprived mind howls. We’re all going to die sooner or later. No ship will try to save us with such little distance between us and the blackhole. Tears slip down her cheeks, her chest tightening from more than a lack of air. She stares down at her partner. At the fluid pouring from his wounded abdomen, the light barely flickering in his eyes.

Why was she trying to save something that isn't even human? 

A sob bubbles from her throat. She chokes, coughing, tasting copper. Crimson drips from her lips. She can still see him. Unnaturally perfect, dark hair. The pale painted metal of his 'skin' burning with heat beneath her hands. A sharp contrast to the icy fluid. His clothes are rough, softness unwarranted, unimportant against function. He’s beautiful to her. Kind and patient. She wondered, as many people did, if that was the result of careful programming. Or if, just maybe, there’s life within those circuits.

The vortex looms even closer, the ship trembles. It’s so quiet. So dark. If this is the end. She thinks, eyes shutting. I want--

She kisses him. Kisses cold silicone lips. Tastes metal and rubber. Tastes blood and salty sweat. For a moment, there’s nothing, and then-- a gentle press back.

It’s quiet as they fall, swallowed by the celestial body, lost forever.

Photo of Rachel Racette

BIO: Rachel Racette, Metis, born 1999, in Balcarres, Saskatchewan. Interested in creating her own world and characters. Writes science-fiction and fantasy. She has always loved books of fantasy and science fiction as well as comics. Lives with her supportive family and cat, Cheshire. Lives vicariously in fantasy settings of her own making. Website: www.racheldotsdot.wordpress.com.