DANGER, the alarm’s vocabulator prattled in its cowboy drawl, TWO MINUTES BEFORE Y’ALL’S AIR'S DONE GONE. It paused for three seconds before repeating an updated message.
The escape pod, lovingly nicknamed Longhorn’s Hacienda so that its occupants didn’t linger on the fact that they were suck in a Life-support Hatch, floating somewhere in the Milky Way beyond Pluto. Someone had even taken the time to decorate this L.H. in a southwestern theme featuring a mural of a rodeo clown popping his head out of a barrel and red chili pepper shaped cushions.
YOU BEST BE GETTIN’ A MOVE ON, AIR’S DONE USED UP.
Through the one window, Earth was nothing more than a pinprick of blue that came in and out of view as the L.H rotated. Darkness interrupted by specks of light made the inside sparkle like an inverted disco ball from a bygone era. The idea of a southwestern DiscoTech in space was lost upon the system’s alarm
I JUST DON’T UNDERSTAND. I KNOW Y’ALL STILL IN HERE, BUT I CAN’T FOR THE LIFE OF ME FIGURE OUT HOW Y’ALL ARE STILL BREATHING.
There was a long period of silence while the system scanned for life. It knew life existed within its gullet. It confirmed life those life signs over and over again. If its readings were accurate, and it had no reason to doubt itself, it was chalked full of life. There was so much life that its seams were about to hemorrhage.
GOSH! I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOUR DOING, BUT STOP! PLEASE STOP!
The L.H. burst, and like a piñata expelling sweet life in all directions.
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