As I fall, all I can see is the debris above me.
A familiar shape wounded with holes, and scarred. I watch as the last
remnants of the structure get burned away, and over 1000 hours of hard
graft gets vaporised. I'd planned it to the letter, but even the best
laid plans of mice and men, of galaxies and solar systems, can't out
fate.
The gentle pull of the planet below is a strange feeling, after so
many centuries spent in isolation. So this is gravity?
Target locked, missile banks 2 and 3. Drifting down, A calm blue
ocean.
I wonder which body I'll wake up in.