Jetta McCree opened her eyes to blackness streaked by white lights. Panic set in on the first cold-seared breath fogging the surface in front of her. She fought to control it. Tentatively touching the clear glass, she cringed at the burning cold and slid her hands to eye level. The black silhouette of them contrasted with the whir of stars in the background. Stars didn't streak. A comet yes; stars, no.
Nausea churned in her stomach with realization. The dark void of space closed in on her. I thought they were going to shoot me or something!
Instead, Jetta hurdled through space in a load capsule. Something told her Frank Donley's men hadn't bothered to press the retrieval button for any nearby Receiver vessels.
"What do you think? Plaid blue or solid blue for tomorrow?"
Plaid or solid blue?
"AR...plaid or solid?" Hubby asks again, standing by the closet and posing with both shirts.
"Oh...sorry. Solid," I suggest absently. Hubby picks plaid in the distance.
...So, Jetta thought, it was going to be a long painful death. Crap...
Good writing all!
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