Life on Mars
I start to think about Earth again. I look out the window. The orange-red sky looks as if it had been splashed with rust. I settle down next to the window, gazing out at the endless desert, where dust floats lazily around like snow that never settles.
“Grandma, is Earth’s sky really blue?” I ask for what feels like the thousandth time.
Pausing her work on the water recycling system, Grandma wipes the sweat from her brow and smiles. “Yes, and there are also clouds—soft and fluffy, drifting with the wind.” I close my eyes to try and visualize what grandma just described.
Life on Mars is monotonous. Every day is the same: checking equipment, calculating oxygen reserves, and trying to find more ways of recycling water. The adults always say that it’s a miracle to even survive. But I don’t want miracles—I want the things from Grandma’s stories: the sound of rain, the scent of grass, the freedom to run without a spacesuit.
Once, I found a video on an old data pad: a blue sky, a blue ocean, golden sand, children laughing as they chased the waves. I nearly jumped up with excitement. But the next second, the screen flickered, displaying the words “Data Corrupted” .
Clenching my fists, I made a silent vow: One day, I will find traces of Earth again. Because here, everything is tinged with red, but I long for a blue sky.