Bernard said this last word like it was full of nails and might gut him to spit it out. - Hugh Howey

Our tears are trying to serve a purpose, but we rarely let them. I don't know how we got started with subverting that purpose.

And then there was the routine, the mind-numbing routine. It was the castration of thought, the daily grind of an office worker who drooled at the clock, punched out, watched TV until sleep overtook him, slapped an alarm three times, did it again.

In deep space, no one can hear you sob.