Dr. Siebren de Kuiper

Mechanical failure on International Space Station leaves one dead, several injured

ATLAS NEWS, JULY 20, 20XX

NOORDWIJK, NETHERLANDS. A press release this morning confirms reports of a catastrophic mechanical failure on the International Space Station (ISS). A single fatality has been confirmed: Dr. Siebren de Kuiper (58), a celebrated astrophysicist from the Netherlands. Several other crew members suffered minor injuries while responding to the emergency. ISS program managers have released a statement insisting that a rigorous investigation is currently underway to determine the cause of the malfunction and ensure the safety of the rest of the crew. A spokesperson from the ESA expressed his condolences on social media: "The scientific community has suffered a great loss this week, and our hearts go out to Dr. de Kuiper's friends and loved ones in this time of grief."

Siebren de Kuiper wouldn't have been surprised to learn he had died. The boundaries of his self and everything it contained shattered. Then there was nothing but deep, silent darkness. Time -- if it even existed anymore -- was both infinite and instant. Light returned, first as a pinprick in the dark, then fracturing outward into a prismatic web, each connective string vibrating with a different eternal note. In that moment, there was only his own tiny particle of awareness and the invisible structure of the universe.

No questions, no uncertainty. It was all perfect and whole.

If he was still capable of structured thought, he would find this death agreeable.

How long was it? Days? Weeks? Years? There's no way (no need) to mark the time elapsed, but eventually the sounds of messy existence begin to invade his supposed afterlife. First, his own blood pumping in his veins, followed by air rising and falling in the cavity of his chest. Finally, the ambient hum of human life: structures, machines, voices and footsteps.

The pristine inner universe ebbs, replaced by brackish emotion: a turbulent mix of grief and panic. He desperately clings to the fading net of threads with all of his will, yanking them to himself. They snap one-by-one, each matched with a loud crash.

Siebren's eyes crack open as he flinches away from the noise. Blurred, unfocused vision doesn't help with his rising panic, nor does the claustrophobic paralysis of his heavy limbs. His heart pounds faster and his lungs keep pace, pushing a flood of adrenaline through his body. A litany of deep aches and stabbing pains emphatically confirm that, yes, his body is still very much alive. If only just.