There I was, flying home from my favorite martini bar, when my spaceship's console burst into flames. I grabbed the extinguisher and a bucket of sand as warning sirens wailed and the ship lurched. My heart pounded in fear as I punched in the emergency codes, triggering the auto pilot with one hand, and dousing the fire with the other.
After a grueling several minutes of combatting the flames, the fire was out and I had gained control once again. I thought, If only I had a help mate. A Co-pilot aboard, and in life, the damage to the ship may have been better contained. Was I destined to die alone in a spaceship crash without ever falling in love?
As I surveyed the damage, I thought of my cousin, wondering if he had tampered with my spaceship as he had done in the past. But there had been no word or sighting of him in months. It was as if he had vanished to some magical, winter wonderland.
Perhaps, he had perished alone first.