aimedforthemoon

There are precious few people awake to see the rocket’s re-entry. Those that were awake had a show; a flaming meteor, disintegrating over the Pacific Ocean and scattering its remains here, there and everywhere.

Only one man, part of a diving crew moored off a tiny, nameless island, is close enough to hear the splash of something large hitting the water.

He dismisses it and goes back to sleep.

After all, it is four in the fucking morning.

~

The splash had been made by the command capsule of the rocket. Amazingly, given the parachutes tore well before hitting the ocean’s surface, both the capsule and its occupant are in one piece.

Well.

More or less.

~

The Russian astronaut opens her eyes. Everything, including her, is on its side and still, still, still.

After six days without gravity, this feels odd.

After falling into the sea, this feels wrong.

She unbuckles herself from her seat and falls against the side of the capsule. Given how cramped the thing is, her fall is more jarring than harmful, even as she mutters curses in her head. Not tall enough to stand in, but at least she can reach everything.

‘Everything’ would be her instruments, which are in various stages of on, off and useful.

Radio is nothing but static and she hits it in frustration but it’s then that she catches sight of the view.

“…oh. Shit.”

Outside her tiny window, a school of fish swims by.