Alex lay in the small bunk bed; its mattress hard and uncomfortable. Standard itchy blankets. The escape pods were strictly built for survival, not luxury. How many days had he been in here? Four? Five? And how many more days until he was discovered by some passing ship? It could be weeks. Maybe longer. The pod would keep him alive for up to two months at least, which was slightly reassuring. Until then he was surrounded by a single room, no bigger than a small apartment. Every basic thing he needed was in here: a food dispenser, onboard toilet, navigation and distress beacon, and a single oval window through which he could view the vast panorama of surrounding space.
How would he stay sane? The onboard computer was programmed with a neat selection of music tracks, movies and training skills. He could learn a new language, read ancient literature or even record a vid log. But instead, he was glancing at a photo in his hand. The photo of a girl he’d left behind, so long ago. Where was she now? Did she still think of him as often as he did her? And would she ever forgive him for lying?
Alex pondered the thought to himself as he lay down to sleep on the hard itchy surface.