Life on Mars Part Two by Charlotte Donaldson
The ship is not small, but it feels cramped. Claustrophobic. Like there’s no room to exist as humans, not a collection of scientists and engineers. A living archive of data on how to build a new world.
My mother has been unhappy. She sits staring out of the ship’s windows, watching the earth fade out of view. We haven’t been able to see it for a month, and I think that upsets her.
I’m not sure how my sister Becky feels. She seemed nervous, but I’ve been seeing her less recently. I want to ask her how she is but the words dry up in my mouth before I can speak them. So I remain unsure.
I thought I’d be easier leaving if I started early. I stopped talking to people. I ate lunch in the library while pouring over textbooks, trying to take in any knowledge useful for the mission. I even gave my goldfish away.
I don’t think it helped in the end. My chest still ached when the time finally came.
But that’s the past, I have a future to think about. Mars. Humanities latest frontier.
Some people can’t wait to land, already making plans for the lives they want when the time comes. Others seem sick with the guilt of leaving our homeworld behind. While the optimists buzz with excitement, they pace the halls like ghosts. Can a place be haunted if noone’s died there?
If anyone would know, it would be me. I spend most of my time wandering this labyrinth of corridors. It used to be a distraction from the pressure of my studies, but as the numbness in my chest grew colder, I spent more of my time wandering for the sake of it.
I suppose that makes me one of this place’s ghosts. Partially still stuck on Earth where I prematurely shed my life. Maybe I thought I’d be different when takeoff came. But here I am, still me, only less. Halved. Like snakeskin crumpled in the dirt.
Part of me hopes that what I left on Earth, I can refind on Mars. Which is a stupid notion, I can’t scoff at the people treating Mars as a redo on the planet we’re leaving and then turn around and treat it as the fix-all to my problems.
I used to be like that. Hopeful. When the mission was first announced, when I was younger, I wanted to build a life on a new planet. Now I feel bitter. Why should everyone be excited when the Earth was there and we’re leaving it!?
I notice that I’ve wandered to the front of the ship, with windows that look out on the stars. I can see that red dot in the distance, a promise of a new home. A home I’ll have to make for myself.
I see Becky with a gaggle of other children she’s befriended, laughing together. Warmth sparks in my chest. Things might be okay. It’s only the future, after all.