‘Radio’s out.  Antennae must have been torn off.’

‘There’s still time. They’ll find us.’

‘Do you know where we are?’

‘No. Can’t recognise anything. They’ll be looking though.’

‘What if they don’t?’

‘Don’t?

‘Find us. What then?’

‘We deal with that when the time comes.’

‘What are our chances?’

‘You should stop talking so much. It wastes energy.’

‘Be honest, Ed.’

‘Okay. The truth? Minimal chance of rescue. The reality is slow starvation.’

‘So… what do we do?’

‘We? I know what I’m going to do. Always have.’

‘What?’

‘I’m  going out. It’s quicker. You can stay if you want.’

‘No. Not alone. Will you… give me a hand? When the time comes?’

‘Of course. I’m going to leave a message. In case… Want to say anything?

‘No.  You do it. Keep it short though.

‘Houston. We are going out. Look after our families.’

‘Perfect. No point in waiting now, is there?’

The hatch opened and, embracing, they let themselves drift into space.

 Written in response to a challenge to write  a ‘flash-fic’ of exactly 165 words

April 2012