Farscape Snippet: Drifting
Fandom, Characters: Farscape, John Crichton
Length: 238 words
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: The characters and concepts of Farscape belong to the Jim Henson Company.
Notes: This is my first Farscape fic. Thanks to my beta, simplystars.
John's Dad had raised him on stories of heroes. Not knights in shining armor, but pilots. WWI pilots, who saluted each other as they went into combat and fired machine guns through their own props at the enemy. WWII pilots, keeping hope alive during the Blitz as their friends were shot out of the sky. Test pilots and astronauts, carrying the dreams of a nation on their backs. Pilots lived in the air and died by fire.
In the days since he'd first fallen through a wormhole and come out the other side of the Looking Glass, John had often thought he'd go out like that, in a blaze of glory.
Now, with the only sound his own harsh breath and the only sight his steadily decreasing O2 gauge, John realized that he was closer to the old British seamen. The ones who sailed off the edge of the map and never made it home. Drifting through the endless black of space wasn't too different from being carried by wind and wave across the face of the deep. Sailors spent their lives surrounded by water, but refused to learn to swim. They were afraid of those last long minutes after their ship disappeared over the horizon.
Pilot would come back if he could. In the mean time, John had over an hour of air and a vista of unexplored stars. He might as well relax and enjoy the view.
Length: 238 words
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: The characters and concepts of Farscape belong to the Jim Henson Company.
Notes: This is my first Farscape fic. Thanks to my beta, simplystars.
John's Dad had raised him on stories of heroes. Not knights in shining armor, but pilots. WWI pilots, who saluted each other as they went into combat and fired machine guns through their own props at the enemy. WWII pilots, keeping hope alive during the Blitz as their friends were shot out of the sky. Test pilots and astronauts, carrying the dreams of a nation on their backs. Pilots lived in the air and died by fire.
In the days since he'd first fallen through a wormhole and come out the other side of the Looking Glass, John had often thought he'd go out like that, in a blaze of glory.
Now, with the only sound his own harsh breath and the only sight his steadily decreasing O2 gauge, John realized that he was closer to the old British seamen. The ones who sailed off the edge of the map and never made it home. Drifting through the endless black of space wasn't too different from being carried by wind and wave across the face of the deep. Sailors spent their lives surrounded by water, but refused to learn to swim. They were afraid of those last long minutes after their ship disappeared over the horizon.
Pilot would come back if he could. In the mean time, John had over an hour of air and a vista of unexplored stars. He might as well relax and enjoy the view.