The carbon dioxide leaving his lungs seemed to take up space.

Surreal was the only word for it, he had to keep breathing, every gasp continually reminding him that he must be somewhere.

No up, no down.

In attempt to silence the growing paranoia, he knelt to his feet and was mortified as his fingers reached lower than where he “stood”

Blink as much or as little as he pleased there was no difference. Not a breeze.

Each breath left him, dissipating into the vacuum, but it was not like space. He had been there before, floated from station to shuttle tethered in between.

This was empty. The kind of empty that took on form, draining. Eerie beyond belief, it—because it must be an it not merely a where in which he now existed—seemed to be extracting the very life source from the souls of his feet.