Your writing topic for today is: the space station.
Today just kind of slipped by without me taking much notice of it. Sneaky bugger.
I wake to weightlessness.
Floating halfway between my bed and the ceiling, my chest tight and my fingers clenching my sheet, I wonder if I'll ever get used to this. Probably not.
Then again, if things continue as they have been I may not have much longer to adapt.
The gravitational systems had been the first to fail, convulsing to a halt three weeks ago. It had been fun at first, during my waking hours. The kids would have loved it, had any of them survived the attack.
Next to go were the lights, blowing out in spectacular, heart-stopping fashion last week. The never-ending night had been terrifying for a day or two, but then my eyes grew accustomed to the weak starlight stumbling through the exterior windows.
The unexplainable noises have increased since then. I guess the ghosts are more content in the dark.
I suppose I'll know for sure soon enough: the oxygen systems will collapse and then I'll join their ranks at last.