the comfortable certainty of life

“What’s it like in space?” Shore asked.

Castle bit into a candy.  “Big,” he said finally.  It’s very big.”  He took another candy.

Shore waited.

Castle ate.

“That’s it?” Shore said.  “It’s big?  That’s all you have to say?”

Castle tilted his head.  “What more do you want?”

“I don’t know.  But, something.  More than big.”

“Alright,” Castle said.  “Well, there’s math involved.  In space, math wants to kill you.  Math is the difference between breathing comfortable and being extruded through a rivet hole in the side of your ship.”  He brought another candy to his lips but did not eat it.  “Yea.  That’s right.  When you get into space, away from the comfortable certainty of life, you realize that the universe seems specifically designed to make life as improbable as possible.  A thousand things can kill you in space, and all very easily.  Blink, and in that bat of time, you can be done.  Just done.  One of the millions of components in this ship can tweak, short out, and then it’s game over really quickly.  Boom, poof, nothing but a wad of matter floating through space and nothing.”  Castle popped the candy into his mouth and chewed unenthusiastically.

A long moment of silence passed between them.

“Oh,” Shore said.

-from “All Our Imaginary Friends Are Dead”