The Stowaway

He was a stowaway on an intergalactic freighter that had stalled just outside an arm of the Milky Way.  It was during the troubleshooting process that his hiding place was discovered and assumptions made about who had caused the problem.  He was sent out the airlock in an expired but functioning suit.  They weren’t barbarians after all.

And then the ship disappeared into the inner swirl of stars leaving him to float effortlessly in the void.  He did not know how long he had to live, but it hadn’t felt like he was really very much alive for quite some time now.  Who leaves what they know for what they don’t?  It had been a flight into the unknown, looking for something resembling hope.

He tried to orient himself towards the light of the stars swirling in numberless variations and put the blackness of space at his back.  He’d read about something like this once back on earth where people jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge invariably faced the city lights and not the blackness of an impersonal ocean.  Ancient history, but pertinent nonetheless.

His heartbeat and breathing created a kind of rhythm that was calming.  It may have been an illusion, but the stars appeared to pulse in sync to this inner music.  For the first time in his life there was nothing to worry about because there was nothing to change.  He was just a part of the whole which required no effort, only acceptance.

And there was time enough to slip into timelessness.  Oxygen depletion would be slow and relatively painless if his body could adjust to it with a gradual lessening of consciousness.  He felt its pull and did not resist.  As he opened his mouth wide for one last yawn he saw the galaxy and a billion others rush in, like inhaling the fragrance from a field of wildflowers.