Not Your Usual Scary Stories

Inverted Sky

If you've read any of my other short stories, you'll notice that this is a very similar yet opposite version to one of my first popular short stories. Guess which one at the end of this. Again, this was created for a contest where I had to include the words "250,000" and create the story in only 500 words, so I wrote it very fast and there will be grammar errors...sorry. 

"Houston, we have achieved stable orbit." I say into my com. There's a brief cheer from the other end before my superior comes on the line.

"You're sounding pretty cocky for an overpaid garbage man."

I can't help but laugh at his sarcastic tone. The post-launch adrenaline still runs through my veins filling me with a deep sense of excitement and adventure. Technically he's correct, trash collection is the entire purpose of my mission.

"If you can find another garbage man with a rig as expensive as mine, I'm sure he'll be cocky too." I casually reply with a glance around the cockpit. Years of research and state of the art technology, along with a rather hefty budget, have resulted in this; The Hermes Mark 1.

 It was designed specifically for maneuverability in orbit to manually remove debris from Earth's exosphere. The number of objects in orbit has risen, dangerously, over the years.

At speeds of 17,000 mph, if something as small as a nail hit the satellite, it would shatter, sending thousands of pieces in all directions blanketing the sky, blocking any space flight.

My job is to not let that happen.

I get a visual on my first target; a discarded rocket-booster. It's difficult to make out the tiny speck through four inches of reinforced glass plating the size of my hand. Hermes was designed to withstand impact at orbital speeds. The plating can withstand up to a hundred thousand pounds/square inch of pressure.

The computers handle the navigation, and soon I'm close to my target. I extend the grappling arm, reaching forward and clamping onto the offending booster. Taking manual control I delicately give it the tiniest nudge.

It's more than enough as the pieces sail downward towards the surface. Activating an external camera I watch it descend, bursting into flames until there was nothing left.

Gleefully, I retract the arm, turning to my console. I reach for the com to report my success.

But the words never leave my lips.

An explosion rocks me from behind launching me forward, head slamming into the com-screen. My vision blares white as I slump sideways in my chair.

Everything is spinning around me, the air is heavy. An unstoppable force pushes down on me until I submit and slip into unconsciousness. The last thing I see is sparks from my console igniting into flame.

---

When I wake, I'm disoriented. I reach up to my head. There's no pain, but it is wet. There's also a soft dent in my skull. I want go back to sleep, but a sudden wave of nausea leaves me retching over the edge of my chair. I'm still strapped in at the waist. I clumsily find the buckle and fall unceremoniously into my own puke.

I push myself into a sitting position against the wall, stopping only to dry-heave a few times. It's dark, I can hardly see anything. The only light coming from a small display.

That display... what is that? It's familiar even though I have no idea where I am. If it weren't so cracked, it would look like my altimeter... on the...

on the Hermes...

My memory rushes back as the pain in my head explodes from pain and realization. My downfall had been due to a cascading internal electrical failure. A chain reaction within my own system. No amount of carbon fiber plating could have stopped it.

I stumble to my feet and over to the controls. Everything is fried. Almost. The shattered altimeter screen slowly counts upwards. It reads 250,000 ft, but... that can't possibly be correct. That would put me far too low in the atmosphere. I would be falling right now, and the number would be dropping.

Vision blurring, I search the console for any other functional equipment. The manual controls for the boosters seem to still function.

I stare out the tiny window, searching desperately for a reference point. I use the boosters to spin the ship but I'm greeted by absolute blackness in every direction. That can only mean I'm no longer in the atmosphere.

Somehow I have slipped out into deep space. The electrical failure could have activated my boosters, pushing me up and out of orbit. I glance to my altimeter as it ticks upwards; 250,500, 250,510.

I can't trust the altimeter. It's obviously broken. There's no way that I'm only 250,000 ft above sea level.

For one, there's gravity. That's a good sign. It also tells me which direction to travel. As long as I go downwards I should reach the surface. I just have to go down and then...

I catch myself dozing in my seat, the throbbing in my head trying to lure me into my final slumber. I shake it off and grab the controls. Using gravity as my guide, I begin my descent.

The ship creaks and groans as if squeezed through a hydraulic press. There is little I can do. I press onwards, and downwards at full speed.

The creaking grows louder as the minutes pass. My eyes glued to the window, my only chance of survival.

Finally, in the distance, a pinprick of light. I speed towards it, mind racing to decipher my first clue. At first, I think sun, but it's too small. It could be a light from the Earth, but that doesn't seem right either.

I'm starting to realize that it's not a large light source but rather a tiny light that's very close. I slow and watch the small ball of light dance around in the darkness, moving as if it's alive, swaying and coming straight for me. I stare uncertainly as it approaches.

The ship shakes behind me but I can do nothing but stare at this mesmerizing ball of light. It floats to the window, and I can see now that it's attached to something.

Beady eyes and sharp teeth scrape against the glass while the light bounces on the end of an antenna.

I freeze in place as the angler fish swims away, realization slowly dawning. My eyes snap back to the broken altimeter, still climbing upwards. I move closer and see that just barely beneath the shattered screen, is a negative sign I hadn't noticed before.

The altimeter isn't broken. It's working just fine.

I'm 250,000 ft below sea level.

I grab the controls and try to reverse as fast as I can, but it's too late. The 150,000 lb/in^2 of water pressure finally finds the seam it needs. Nothing can withstand that force for long. Not reinforced carbon nanofibers,

and certainly not me.