Left Behind

Left Behind

I had dreamed of it my whole life. As a child, my bedroom walls were smothered with posters of space, my duvet spotted with planets, and my walls painted with twinkling stars. My two pounds of pocket money each week was spent without hesitation on Space Weekly, where I eagerly lapped up any information about space, any new discoveries about this place I already called home. Despite the fact that I had never even been into outer space, I knew everything about it, from the names of all the volcanoes on mars to the surface area of the sun. Every fancy dress party was a chance to be who I wanted to be, even if only for two hours. Marching confidently into the room with my goldfish’s tank on my head and cardboard boxes painted to look like an astronaut suit.

That is why, when the first tickets to mars were available, I immediately jumped at the opportunity. I was fifteen years old, not yet old enough to even have my own phone and yet, from some miracle, I was allowed to join this journey into outer space. Within 15 minutes I had packed; I knew everything I needed (I had memorised the list since I was 5). The next month found me training at the space centre. Although I was finally getting a taste of what it would be like in space, I was practically going mad with my impatience to finally get into space. To feel no gravity – to be freed from the clutches of physics and to float, with no other cares in the world out of our atmosphere.

The space shuttle arrived, and me and the fifteen others that had joined me on this trip took no time to get settled in this strange but exciting place we would call home for the next couple of days. We eagerly explored the tiny ladders, fold-away beds and cupboards full of freeze-dried food that looked like my cat’s vomit. I couldn’t wait – my anticipation that had built up over the past 15 years felt so overwhelming that I thought I would burst. But no, I couldn’t do that just yet, not when I was about to reach my dreams, not when I was within reach of doing what every inch of me had longed to do since I was a child.

The first step onto mars was unreal. The crunch beneath my feet, the distinctive smell of iron oxide even through my helmet, the sight of the endless expanse of red dust. I had imagined mars as big, but this big – it blew my mind. My enthusiasm and emotion at finally reaching my life’s goal filled me from head to foot with a trembling, awestruck happiness.

The next few days were filled with a tight schedule; there were many activities planned but all I wanted to do was to escape all the commotion and to sit, alone, in this world I wanted to be mine forever. I had greeted mars like my old friend, but I wanted to get to know it better; I wanted to live here forever. Even as I thought that, I knew it was impossible: no human had ever lived for more than five days on mars, the only people on the planet were me and the fifteen others.

However, it was not long before my dream came true. It was the last day on mars - the days had spun by so quickly, my happiness obliviating from me any sense of time. I had snuck out of the volcano research class, and out on my own into the barren but beautiful plains of mars. I don’t remember much from those few hours – just an elated happiness that flooded my mind and the sense of belonging, that I had reached my goal.

It was two hours later when I heard a small beeping. With a sudden jerk of realisation, I looked down at a warning light flashing on my suit. In preparation sessions, we had been told that if we ever see this light flashing, we had one hour to get back to the space centre before the oxygen ran out. My pulse quickened; I had to get back. Each crunch beneath my feet felt like the ticking of a bomb, about to explode. The smell of iron oxide was sickening. All I wanted was to be in the safety of the centre. I had to get back. I couldn’t die. Not after all this.

My pace was maddeningly slow, but all attempts to speed up sent me floating 2 metres above the ground. Instead of being freeing, the lack of gravity was limiting, confining. My head buzzed, my heart pounded and my feet jumped. Slowly.

I felt like screaming out, calling for help. I knew no one could save me, not when I was so far away. My frustration bubbled up inside of me until I could stand it no longer. I opened my mouth and – BOOM. My heart skipped a beat. My eyes widened in panic, then shut in helpless desperation.

The space shuttle had taken off without me. The fire from the bottom of the shuttle streaked the sky with a burning red. It disappeared and I was left with an ominous, inky, black sky. I was alone on mars. It was only yesterday I had been wishing with all my heart that I could stay behind and live here. And now here I was. Helpless, alone and … running out of oxygen.

I gazed out at space helplessly. I had reached my dream; I had experienced what it was like to be free of gravity, to eat freeze-dried food and to wear a real astronaut suit. But look where it had got me. I looked at the twinkling and distant stars. They peered down mockingly at me as if to say, “Look at you. Left behind in space.”