231

I was told that space had a certain level of quiet, that it was much like swimming

An eerie kind of silence that filtered into your soul

They warned me of everything that I could possibly ask, everything except the screams

Screams even in a space station are still screams, are still blood-curdling

Knowing that they found another crew member, knowing that they are getting closer to you

True silence is the one in your mind when you know death is coming

No level of stars or advice can prepare you for that

Beside me is the spray-painted number 231

231

The 231st mission sent out across the universe

230 missions that went without a hitch

The 231st mission, the only one attacked halfway there

From here, I can see the corner of the bay window

It is painted with stars that wink out at me

Not a bad view to die to

The doors hiss open, shadows step through

But I won’t look at them, I refuse to give them the satisfaction

My last view will be of the vast expanse of space

Not the murderous eyes of aliens

231 a spec fic poem by Rhiannon Bird

First published in Stygian Lepus Magazine Issue 6