Confessions

“30 minutes oxygen remaining” a calm voice states over the intercom.  The newlywed couple sits on the observation deck, looking across the stars to Europa.

“Now that we have a few minutes of peace” he shouts over the panicked screams, “I want to tell you something.”

“Yeah?” she replies, turning towards him.

“You snore.  Since we’re going to die in 27 minutes, thought I’d tell you.”

“Now that you mention it, you have never cleared the table.”

He throws his head back and laughs, “One more thing, these tickets to Europa were expensive.  I should probably tell you that I burned the house down so the insurance money would cover our honeymoon trip.”

“What?  That’s insurance fraud.  You’re crazy!”

“I won’t get caught before we have our last gasp in another 25 minutes.”  He replies over the blaring alarms.

She laughs at the absurdity of it all, even though asteroids have been known to breach the hull.  “Despite all that, no, because of all that.  I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather die with.”

They share a tender glance and a transcendent kiss as the lights flicker overhead.

“20 minutes oxygen remaining” the automated voice declares over the intercom.

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