I see Reese walking carefully across the naked surface towards me. She never gets any closer; she’s always just past those big grey rocks, just far enough that she’ll never reach me before she gets called back.
Of course, it isn’t really her: it’s just an afterimage, a ghost. The real Reese left with the ship. She followed orders. I don’t know why I keep seeing her. Maybe it’s one of those things where the last moment of my life is being drawn out and I’m just perceiving it as weeks and months and finally years. Maybe it’s hypoxia.