It was almost beautiful—for a moment—if in a stark and unforgiving sort of way, if only for a moment. Then Crispin remembered: there had been two metallic noises before that crippling blast. Two. He didn’t remember until the second charge blew. If anyone screamed this time, he never heard it, For a brief moment, he thought that he was flying. The mountains and the plateau ahead seemed to rise, marching up the side of the window as the shuttle began to spiral. There were no sounds in all creation but for the rushing of the blood in his veins and a silent screaming like a wind through his soul.
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