Here we are in orbit of the moon, the three of us.

The oxygen alarms are going off, something went wrong. Mission control has run us through everything, we did what we can, tried everything. We're short.

We have just more than a days worth of air. Three days to Earth, to a limitless supply of breathable oxygen. The math checks out.

They have donned their suit, and so has their partner. I am suited up as well, but shall remain seated. The capsule is depressurized, they just need to go outside.

Here we are in orbit of the moon, the three of us. Two of us went down and stood upon alien soil. One of us will return.

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Here they are in orbit of the moon. They float aimless in space, waiting for the end. The line is open, one has a family on the other end, the other simply placed their last request for music.

A lover tells another just how much they love them, how they will never be forgotten. A child asks when they will come home. The question is deflected. Time goes quickly, the air in the suits gets stale.

One of them nods off, tries to, hoping that maybe they won't see it coming. The other holds on, for their family that they will never see again. Two people reminisce about old times. Its getting harder to think. A child asks when they are coming home. The question is deflected.

One of them has fallen asleep. They will not wake back up. The other is still talking, trying too. It is hard to think with so little air. Each breath takes energy, each breath gives some. One breath takes something, there is less of it given. Each breath is tallied, a debt which is postponed but not indefinitely. A child asks when they are coming home. The question is not answered.

Here are two in orbit of the moon. They float aimlessly in space, ended.

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Here I am, returning home.

I am falling through the atmosphere at breakneck speeds. The force of the deceleration is crushing me into my seat. This capsule was not designed for this, I was not designed for this. The G meter shows two, and rising.

I remember my team, my friends. I listened to the songs we played, the conversation between a family soon to be broken apart. I shed tears, partly from bits of me getting crushed, partly from sorrow at live cut short.

The G meter is rising, 3.5, 4. We made compromises. Time was not on our side. We saved hours, did we need them? I don't know. If we did, then I will know. If we did not, then maybe I never will. Maybe soon I will know nothing.

5 gs, 6. It becomes hard to think, to breath. I am crushed into my seat, the weight of my own rips crushing my lungs. The air is getting warmer, or am I simply cold? I don't know. I can't think.

7, 8. Maybe we didn't need those hours, maybe we did? My vision grows dark, my thoughts slow. I owe my self to no god and yet I find myself praying. I do not know if it will work. If it does then so be it. If it does not then I doubt I'll notice.

9, I do not see a 10. I am asleep now, in a way. Perhaps I should be thankful. I shall either be pleasantly surprised, or I will not notice.

Here I am, returning home.

(I got about 600 words)