Aaron Nieson

It’s a sensation that the astronaut is all too familiar with by now, the lack of gravity, of sound, of any sort of sensation at all. He’s immune to the effect now, space walks being as commonplace as they were. This is different, though.

Even though he can’t feel it, he knows he is travelling at hundreds of thousands of miles per hour, and gaining. He is more than likely travelling faster than any human ever had, but he feels none of the velocity.

The black hole looms in front of him, incomprehensibly large, so large it loses all perspective. He cannot see it, but he can see its effects.

The light is astounding. Was he seeing x-rays? How old was this light? Was it as old as the universe? Just going around and around this black hole since the beginning of time? There was no way. It would have deteriorated. But maybe. Physics means nothing here. And it’s everything. It transcends so far above him that he understands nothing. Or maybe his mind is just going.

He cannot have much time left. He knows he is seeing something that no human has before and it is important to take it all in, though posterity will not benefit from it. He knows his body is being ravaged by radiation. He knows that he will soon undergo spaghettification. Will he feel it?

He tries to hold on to his thoughts. But without him even realizing it, he knows nothing.