Fiction Friday: Spaced by Andrea Howe
By Cecilia Tan. Filed in Fiction |Tags: andrea howe, microfiction
Spaced
by Andrea Howe
She was a waste of air.
So was I, to be fair; each of us drifting in the dark, settling closer and closer as the space around us cooled, lights shut down to preserve what power was left. All except the rust-orange light that winked on. Off. On. Off. Slow and steady, methodical indication of the SOS broadcasting in all directions.
At one point I realized I was breathing in time with it. Slow, shallow, steady breaths, right around the time that her leg stopped just touching mine, and started to press to it. Her eyes were wide in the intermittent light. Afraid. Unseen. Yearning. Gone.
On. Off. On.
Her mouth on mine was like an airmask for a drowning man. Lips opened against lips, and I inhaled deeply, feeling the air pulling in through her nose and drawing up out of her lungs. It tasted like her, like the damply dusty flavor of the protein bars that served for breakfast. Maybe I tasted the same.
It was foolish, twisting together in the middle of the room; we’d shut off the grav hours ago. Skin on skin was a false heat; she was warm under my hands, but that didn’t make up for the heat seeping away into the dark space. Didn’t stop us from unsuiting, from seeking out the contours or bared flesh, now invisible, now orange.
On. Off. On.
Every panting breath was idiocy, and it didn’t matter. We were still breathing, still touching, still feeling something other than the interminable waiting. There was the undeniable NOW, as I sank two fingers into her, and her teeth clamped down on my shoulder. Heat was baking out of her, steaming against me by the time we began moving together in earnest.
I knew every moan was dragging the moment of end that much closer; that every thrust was another lunge toward death. Didn’t matter. Didn’t care. I knew it, she knew it, and still we drew it out, reveling in that simplest of affirmations. We were still alive. This was our breath. This was now.
On. Off. On.
Stay close. Shared bodily warmth.
Off.
–
Andrea Howe lives to coalesce the delicious deviations of the mind. The unsinkable Bliss, she is BlissMorgan on twitter, iambliss on livejournal, and can be reached at bliss.morgan @ gmail.com.
Friday, May 22nd 2009 at 1:22 pm |
A sensuous tragedy that once again proves human touch is more important than breathing. Simply brilliant.
Friday, May 22nd 2009 at 1:50 pm |
The power of the affirmation of life in the most direst of circumstances (or afterwards)is brought to a vivid reality here. Loved the ending.
Off.
Friday, May 22nd 2009 at 4:56 pm |
You are good, my friend.
Very good.
Friday, May 22nd 2009 at 7:42 pm |
This is so delightfully well-crafted. Very nicely done.
And not even death is more powerful than the need to touch and not be alone.
Saturday, May 23rd 2009 at 9:32 am |
i really love the way this was put together. The narrative is solid, even without the before shots being required. You instantly understand everything you need to get you to where you need to be in the story. a rare gift for a writer to have.
Good work.
Saturday, May 23rd 2009 at 7:22 pm |
Whoa. Not what I expected sad and a bit dark, but … well done.
Touch is basic human communication.
Monday, May 25th 2009 at 12:29 pm |
This story left me speechless. With the rhythmic pacing, vivid imagery, and close attention to setting, this story straddles the line between prose and poetry.
Thursday, May 28th 2009 at 9:59 am |
whoa. Pretty intense!
Wednesday, June 24th 2009 at 12:19 pm |
This was… just amazing. what you wrote in so few words said more to me then a hundred times that. i just found myself reading it for the third time and each time, it’s a little more perfect. Thank you.
Wednesday, June 9th 2010 at 3:29 pm |
Two people spitting in the eye of death, even though they know they have already lost. I’ll bet there was more than one couple making love on the Titanic when it went down.