EVA Log: Johann A. Keiser. Date: February 24th, 2035; 2205 hours
Upon exiting the Crew Exploration Vehicle (CEV), I found our pleasant star to be much warmer than I expected. The suit prevents fatal temperature changes between light and shade, but that doesn’t keep it from reaching about 90°s. Behind me, I see everything I own, everyone I love, floating a million miles away on a frail blue sphere. To call it humbling is to compare Olympus Mons to a termite mound.
I’m here to repair the Solar and Heliospheric Observatory monitoring solar activity in the Lagrange point between the Earth and our Sol. I take my time and work carefully to remove the panel protecting the Solar Extreme-Ultraviolet Monitor, which had been damaged by comet dust. It’s not brain surgery, but the absence of gravity compounds the problem exponentially. One of my instruments, a glorified Geiger counter, alerts me in a not so soothing way that I should return to the ship to prevent radiation sickness from cosmic/solar rays. I guide myself back along my tether, my lifeline and quickly make it to the ship. I take one last look at the stars before I enter. A smile broadens my face; I swear I can see Proxima Centauri. Like looking into the past, I see it as it was 4 years ago. I enter the CEV and ask the stars and my Earth to await my return. I won’t be long, I promise them.
* * *
EVA Log: Johann A. Keiser. Date: February 25th, 2035; 1345 hours.
Sixteen hours since my last excursion, my instruments tell me it’s safe for me to leave again. It seems all has gone well so far. I’m more than two thirds done with this repair, ahead of schedule. All that is left to be done is connect the last few wires and replace the damaged exterior protection paneling. I leave again, and just as I asked, my stars awaited me. I see my home as well. I wave to it and chuckle; maybe some scientist watching this will get a laugh too. As I approach the SOHO, I see Polaris far brighter than it ever was on Earth. This universe is so gorgeous, it’s easy to forget how close death lurks. One comet or asteroid, one Coronal Mass Ejection and I become another martyr to the space program.
This time, I find myself in the shadow of Venus. Again, the suit designed to protect me from the bitter cold does its job. Inside it reaches about 50°s, not enough to freeze a person, but enough to chill one’s hands. I complete the repairs with little trouble and start back to the warmth of the ship. As I’m pulling my tether, I spot a small meteoroid. It’s almost too fast to see, only appearing to me for a split second. Its path crosses mine, barely missing me and taking a single beat of my heart with it. I breathe a sigh of relief knowing that I’ve been spared. My relief is replaced with horror when I look back to the ship. My lifeline, the thin connection I had to the ship, and to my Earth, had been severed. I pulled trying to move towards the ship without realizing the futility of my efforts. My logical brain is already accepting my fate, but my impulsive brain goes nuts. My breath quickens and my stomach churns. There must be a way back. I look around for anything to boost me towards salvation, all to no avail. I turn to see where I’m headed, if maybe the CEV will catch up. I see instead, a small blue sphere a million miles away. I see everything I own, everyone I love; our humble speck of stardust, glowing vibrantly in the dark.
A single tear escapes my eye. I whisper “I’m coming home.”


Another story of the cruelty of the fates. No relation to my world, no metaphors here. Just had a spark of an idea and went with it ^.^