The Last Stop by Anonymous
*violent content ahead: reader discretion advised*
After his ship crashed on a huge asteroid, Curly accepted his faith. The lone astronaut knew that no one was coming to save him and that he was going to spend what remained of his life alone in the dark and cold of space on that ship. He knew that one day his life would end and he had accepted that already, as he was 58, but he still wanted to do things that now he would never be able to. Curly opened his locker and took out the gun that his employer gave to every spaceship pilot such as himself in the case of an event like this, so that they wouldn’t have to slowly suffocate as the oxygen in the broken down spacecraft diminished over the course of a few months. He slumped against the locker, the cold weight of the gun resting steady in his grip, thinking about writing a final transmission to send back to earth but realizing that he had no one who would bother to read it. Instead he just pondered on his life for a while. He thought back to being 18—fresh out of high school, already drinking himself into oblivion night after night. Life back then was a blur of reckless fun, blackouts, and mornings he couldn’t remember. For 15 years, he rode that wave, until he finally sobered up, realizing just how hollow it all was. He turned things around, became a dependable worker, a father, even gained respect. But the thrill was gone. The joy he’d once felt, wild and raw, had faded into the background, leaving only the monotony of routine. He was alive, yes, but just barely—a shell, drifting through days that only blurred into each other because there was nothing left to set them apart. In that moment, he realized the best days of his life were back when he was a no-good drunk, lost but somehow freer than he’d ever be again. Curly stood up and opened the locker once more, pulling out a flask from under various junk and boxes. He closed the locker and sat once more. He twisted the cap off the flask with deliberate slowness, took a deep swig, and felt the warm liquor surge through him like fire. With a steady hand, he screwed the cap back on, then raised the gun to eye level.
Bang.