/lit/ - Literature

Imagine, if you will, being an astronaut on the moon. You land successfully, and carry out your experiments, but as you get ready to leave--something is wrong. Some unforseen problem, some error in mathematics. A series of tiny cracks in a perfect plan all leading to this one point in time: you, alone, stranded on the moon. The radio still works. You explain your situation to ground control, and the Earthmen scurry for a solution. Hours pass. The response comes plainly: there is nothing that can be done.
You spend most of your time by the radio. With careful rationing of oxygen, you have a couple days. Enough time for the government to fly your family down to the base in a private jet. To reminisce and say your goodbyes. To have a chat with a head of state--or two. They say you're gonna get a medal for this. Funny. A reporter wants to get a live interview for the 5 o'clock news, but you think that's a little tasteless. After some last few hours of chatting with your family and friends down at the base, you check your oxygen supply, and tell them that you're going out for a walk.
It's funny--you think under the glow of Earthlight--the way you move in this suit, it's a little like skipping. A little like dancing.