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by Jessica Brook Johnson
The tentacled being floated through space in a ball of ice.
Smack! It hit the surface of a massive object. The ice cracked. The being was freed. Its tentacles tasted the object. Not food. The being’s stomach churned in hunger. It could not last much longer. It searched the object in desperation, tentacles clinging, pulling, and prying at every crevice.
An opening formed. Air blasted outward. The being almost blew away, but with determination, squeezed itself inside.
Noises blared above. “Decompression! Ship losing oxygen. Mayday!”
It tasted the air. It was full of pheromones, of fear, of food. At last…
Jessica Brook Johnson
I’ve traditionally published nine short works of fiction, one work of poetry, and I’ve won two Ron Hubbard Writers of the Future awards.