"Asleep in Armageddon" By Ray Bradbury [01]

Today’s episode is: A trippy space sci-fi story by the amazing Ray Bradbury. Learn more: http://listen.morningshort.com Story Genres: Science Fiction, Fantasy, Space Famous books by this author: Fahrenheit 451 The Martian Chronicles Something Wicked This Way Comes And many others. About Morning Short: Morning Short is a podcast and daily newsletter featuring amazing, curated short stories, handpicked for you. They’re meant to entertain you while you commute or work out, help you improve your reading and writing skills, and generally just make you happier. Enjoy our amazing fiction! If you like the short audiobook format, let us know! Story Preview - YOU DON'T WANT death and you don't expect death. Something goes wrong, your rocket tilts in space, a planetoid jumps up, blackness, movement, hands over the eyes, a violent pulling back of available power in the fore-jets, the crash… The darkness. In the darkness, the senseless pain. In the pain, the nightmare. He was not unconscious. Your name? asked hidden voices. Sale, he replied in whirling nausea. Leonard Sale. Occupation, cried the voices. Spaceman! he cried, alone in the night. Welcome, said the voices. Welcome, welcome. They faded. He stood up in the wreckage of his ship. It lay like a folded, tattered garment around him. The sun rose and it was morning. Sale pried himself out the small airlock and stood breathing the atmosphere. Luck. Sheer luck. The air was breathable. An instant's checking showed him that he had two months' supply of food with him. Fine, fine! And this—he fingered at the wreckage. Miracle of miracles! The radio was intact. He stuttered out the message on the sending key. CRASHED ON PLANETOID 787. SALE. SEND HELP. SALE. SEND HELP. The reply came instantly: HELLO, SALE. THIS IS ADDAMS IN MARSPORT. SENDING RESCUE SHIP LOGARITHM. WILL ARRIVE PLANETOID 787 IN SIX DAYS. HANG ON. Sale did a little dance. It wis simple as that. One crashed. One had food. One radioed for help. Help came. La! He clapped his hands. The sun rose and was warm. He felt no sense of mortality. Six days would be no time at all. He would eat, he would read, he would sleep. He glanced at his surroundings. No dangerous animals; a tolerable oxygen supply. What more could one ask. Beans and bacon, was the answer. The happy smell of breakfast filled the air. After breakfast he smoked a cigarette slowly, deeply, blowing out. He nodded contentedly. What a life! Not a scratch on him. Luck. Sheer luck. His head nodded. Sleep, he thought. Good idea. Forty winks. Plenty of time to sleep, take it easy. Six whole long, luxurious days of idling and philosophizing. Sleep. He stretched himself out, tucked his arm under his head, and shut his eyes. Insanity came in to take him. The voices whispered. Sleep, yes, sleep, said the voices. Ah, sleep, sleep. He opened his eyes. The voices stopped. Everything was normal. He shrugged. He shut his eyes casually, fitfully. He settled his long body. Eeeeeeeeeeee, sang the voices, far away. Ahhhhhhh, sang the voices.

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