. . .

Vacuum Dessication

I can still see his hand through the window. The glove is still on it, big and bulky. It's slowly drifting out of sight, thank god, but at this rate I'll be able to watch it for another hour or so. Unless I turn away.

I can't turn away, though. It was such a random thing. A micrometeorite to the faceplate. He probably was killed instantly. He deserves better than to just drift off into the vacuum without some sort of memorial. If my vigil here is the best I can give him, then that's what he'll get.