part 7 (original) (raw)

Cursing, he made it to his feet. It had all been a dream. Worse than the pain from the fall was the fact that he was apparently now living in a fucking movie cliche.

He needed to do something, get out of the house. Going to the closet, he pulled out his pressure suit and rocket backpack. How could he have been so stupid? He hadn't even lived on Earth for the past five years. Of course, the dream hadn't been real.

Before he snapped the helmet into place, he looked at his anti-depressant medication, still lying on the table. What the fuck, it could be fun, he figured, popping a couple more. Clicking the helmet on, he stepped out the door and fired up the backpack, zooming into the thin Xanadian atmosphere.