Flash Fiction Friday!

There is no “up” in space.

Still, the capsule was painted with its name and registration numbers as if there were, and as I crawled along the rim and tested each sensor, trying to find the one that was malfunctioning, I did it in relation to those markings, as if gravity still prevailed.

I had tried not to. I considered it each time I went hull-side, because everyone whose ranking excepted them from ever having to do rim maintenance and repair work laughed at you when they found out you did, but it was no use: the moment you turned yourself over, your brain and body revolted against it.

Throwing up in a vac-suit is not an option you should choose.

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