The sounds of my breath echoing off the inside of my helmet, I can hear the soft crackle of static in my comm-link. It’s strangely quiet right now but usually is during a maintenance atmo-purge. Evacuating all the atmosphere from the ship seems to be an annoying procedure to the rest of the crew. But for me it’s nirvana; the whole ship gets eerily quiet just before the purge. If you wait til the last second to seal your visor it’s like a soft sunrise early in the morning - nothingness. It doesn’t happen too often and usually when the crew compliment is at its’ lowest. This atmo-purge was a distinct honor for me personally. It would be my last before leaving the ship. I’ve served my time. But I would miss this ship. I’d miss the sound of the alert sirens calling us to the hanger, the strange smells from the mess hall that I have grown all too fond of and the corridors. The corridors are so uniformly plain but so extremely vital. I’ve taken a likeness to the port side middle corridor. The carrier Oxmoor has many of them but this one is my favorite. It’s the least traveled and has the least wear and tear. I’ve caught myself staring out the window. Entranced by whatever is out there. My conclusion is it doesn’t matter what’s out the window, it’s the corridor that enriches the experience. It saturates my memory and melts away the ship and crew. I’ve flown and fought some extreme events in my time here but they all seem to fade away to the solace of these brief moments away from the populace and duty. I want to leave my mark on that corridor but doing so would change it. * It felt like a brisk morning the first time I used that corridor. I remember waking up and not wanting to get out of my bunk. As if it was colder in the room than normal. I knew this way not true as the temperature in the ship is always the same. It was at this very moment the alert was set off. Bellowing through the room I jumped to my feet and rushed for the door. Attempting to open the door was a struggle, it would not submit. The air pressure alert flashed on the door panel. Rushing to my flight suit I donned it faster than ever. The small click of the helmet latching into place always reminded me of heavy rain on glass panels at my family home. The brief moment of that reminder was interrupted by the door opening. My roommate panicked and opened it earlier than expected. I didn’t have time to be furious with him, I felt the pull as myself and all the oxygen was blown out. Shortly after knocking against the side wall my comm-link sparked to life, “Battle stations, battle stations, all pilots to the hanger!” We made our way to our respective stations. After the battle I, and many others, made the long walk through the hanger. A battle hard fought but won. You could see the desperation in their eyes for sleep or relaxation or any form of distraction. Concentrating that hard, adrenaline racing, pulsing and pushing can be an exhaustive process. Zombie like I began my march back to my room the hallways and corridors brimming with movement. Absentminded I wondered what felt like forever. In my sight I could see the faint shimmer of my heads-up-display. It fogged my thoughts. After what felt like hours I wondered into the middle port side corridor. I remember it so vividly; stretching out forever and lit primarily from the windows as most of the power was still allocated for primary systems. One of the window panels had a long string of ice laced to the inside. It was an odd sight. The ice rainbowed with color from the left over remains of our enemy, it was at that time my mind cleared. The solace of that corridor was akin to the final moments of conciseness before sleeping. I glided slowly to the string of ice and stood in front of it gazing through it into the blackness of space. Somehow the wreckage outside seemed beautiful, I think, only because of its’ effect on the ice. It was at that moment the ice began to dissipate and that sight and the stillness of it all burned into my memory. A scar I would hold dear forever. With so many people on that ship and all the commotion of that day’s events but this moment in time and space was mine alone and mine alone. _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Thank you for reading. This short personal log-style fiction was inspired by the image. As you can tell from the narrative I was trying to capture something personal and memorable to the pilot. Have a grand day and I'll see you in the verse. ~ARC