text: “Three, two, one.” The sound of thrusters taking on heat beyond measure. “Three, two one,” the sound of spot checks, buttons flicking with green, yellow and red lights sparking on. “Three, two, one,” the feeling of force of an unmeasurable nature pushing you back in a seat you have been strapped on, a position you have trained rigorously for months and years on end only to not believe it when you come into full throttle into the very limits of your own atmosphere, brought by minds of a higher understanding that I couldn’t hope to scratch the surface of their thoughts, yet marvel inside the metal confines of their great creation. Your life flashes before your eyes when you die, or so they say. The same is said when you first hear that count and take off out of your own atmosphere. They never train you for that, it’s almost a dead silent pact you make, an unspoken understanding of what is to come. How should I put it into words? Your own unique experience of your own life narrated through your mind in an epiphany moment in mid flight. Flying through the skies, now breaking through the cusp of the earths’ atmosphere, that’s when I Watched myself go to one of the finest tech universities because my father sold off his farm and took a life in the city because of a belief and a hope in his only son after losing his wife to cancer. That’s when I relived marrying Amber May under an old oak tree in the backyard of her daddy’s home. Or when my own daughter cried for the first time, her brown eyes gazing upon me with a life I helped create through a love built on time and trust. That’s what I saw, and when I finally had my own eyes back, peeled forward now to where we were headed, not reflecting on where I had been, that’s when I saw it. A vast beauty of colour, with a background of mystery layered in an endless black. An ocean of stars, those that had already died, and some yet unborn in this constant galaxy that we marvel at. When we touched into space, my body lifted, gravity had disappeared from underneath me like water through your fingertips. Even now my fellow astronauts spoke back with base command, telling them of status updates, of arrival times and oxygen levels, I simply floated and admired the unfamiliar territory of the cosmos. I wish I could say it was one of the most invigorating sites my green eyes had ever glanced upon, but when we touched down on Mars and I looked back, I saw home in its most honest form. Blue oceans that curved around the worlds surface with patches of green and brown that looked so small and almost insignificant, as if I had only been looking at a plastic miniature globe through a scope ten hundred thousand miles away. When you look at the Earth from another planet, to call it mesmerizing is an insult because it’s not true. What you ask is how? How are you standing here, in a place where there is no gravity or oxygen in a perpetual dark cold as cruel to life as it was beautiful in living. How are you of all the billions of inhabitants of the small circular blue and green and brown planet standing amongst gods finest tapestry? It was hard being called back into the Endeavour, but my mission wasn’t to be trapped in thought. We had received an unknown signal from this planet a year ago. The best I could describe it was a high pitch cry, like the call of an orca but stretched out for so long. We had never received a call like this. “Houston this is the Endeavour, do you read me?” Commander Halloway asked, the radio crackling loud. “This is Mission Control, how are the three of you doing up there?” the voice hissing through. “We have made touchdown on Red. I repeat we have made touchdown on red.” said Commander Halloway. “According to our information, you should have made touchdown half an hour ago, Commander. Should we be concerned with the delays. That’s when the Commander looked back at me and winked, “Sorry Houston, Command Pilot Dalton just lost his space cherry.” “Thank you, Commander. Welcome to Red, Dalton. We hope you enjoy your stay, sir.” I pretended to salute, “Thank you Houston. I certainly am. Command Pilot Dalton signing off.” Backup Command Pilot Buddy Durston had been enjoying his third ramen package he had snuck on board. When I managed my way into the middeck, he laughed at my ‘floating technique’ as he called it when we were in midflight. “Dalton, you still getting used to such little gravity here on the big red rock, huh?” laughed Buddy, handing me a package of his prized noodles. “I jumped out there, got over three feet, thought I would float right off the plant.” I said with excitement. He could tell how badly I wanted to gear back up and head out into the red sands of Mars. “Funny story, kid. When I was your age, I was so excited for space. I volunteered first for the zero-gravity training.” “How did it go?” I asked. “Terrible, I panicked like my first time out in the water and started doggy paddling. They called me ‘Air Bud’ for months.” I listened with such excitement, Buddy Durston and Commander Halloway were legends in space travel. To be on this planet, ‘Red’, ‘Mars’, the planet named after the god of war, yet I felt an ironic tingling of peace when I looked out and watched the red sands swirl about, dancing in a primitive state, a dance that had been happening for a time before ones imagination, before time itself was even the twinkling concept behind the eyes of a man with an excellent mind long before his time. We had slept for a few hours before Buddy and Commander Halloway had told me to take one final walk out in the great beyond before we packed up and took off. I took my steps out, jumping as high as I could with every step. I looked back and could see the boys smiling back at me from the window of the Endeavour. They waved until an orange, blue and red flame crackled from within as they had warmed up the thrusters. A deaf burst came from within, the calls from Houston asking for a status report. Then the Endeavour exploded. Not like back home on earth. The sound would be deafening, I’d be projected backwards and onto the ground in pain. This was not the case. The explosion was near soundless. The waves of destruction floated away lifelessly along with my comrades. Only the satellite and damaged communications remained amongst the hunk of ruin that was once the Endeavour. In an instant this had gone from a glimmering moment in a long stretch of moments in my life to my last. The explosion had caused my helmet to crack and air was fast escaping. “Houston this is C.P Dalton. The Endeavour is gone. I repeat the Endeavour is gone. A malfunction has caused the Endeavour to explode and there is a leak in my mask. I am afraid I have little time.” From back in the command center in Houston Texas, Control command Dean Sanders took my call. He was sweating, the malfunction report was directly in front of him on a blue screen in front of hundreds of employees. Everyone was speechless. “This is Houston. What remains of the Endeavour?” B.C Dalton replied grimly. “The Endeavour is in ruin. Half the vessel remains, communications...ruin...severely damaged. Backup?” he asked with broken words that barely scratched out from behind heavy static. “Dalton this is... Dean Sanders. We will not be able to retrieve you in time if there is damage to your mask. I’m so sorry Dalton. I am so sorry.” Dalton could hear the agony in Dean’s voice. “I wiggled the satellite a little, am I coming in clear?” Dalton asked, only some static remained. “Loud and clear, Dalton.” Dean replied, his head staring down at the microphone, knowing it was only time before the inevitable. “It’s crazy isn’t it, Dean?” he asked, static picking up again. “What’s that?” Dean asked. “It was three days ago I was terrified with excitement about this trip to Red. It was yesterday I finally broke through our atmosphere and touched a planet few have stepped foot on. I can see everyone right now. Everyone, everything. Somewhere amongst all this blue and green is my family at home, waiting for me. I wish I could just float home, you know?” His words had Dean choke up, fighting back tears. “You should be proud of yourself. We will take care of your family, we promise.” He said, trying to re-assure the abandoned space pilot. The entire room nodded with agreement. “You took care of my family when you picked me out of thousands of recruits, sir. Now my time has come. I will die here. I will die on the planet I have dreamed to travel to, I will be buried in the red sands of a planet not ours, far from the Hospital I made my first cry in, the same hospital that my baby girl had cried for the first time. I will die here, at my goal, but you know what Dean?” Dean took a moment, everyone was breathless. People crying from the last man of the Endeavours words. We were all silent. “What is it, Dalton?” Dean asked. The tears finally rolled down stubborn eyelids and against red cheeks. “You tell my wife a message for me?” he asked, a final request. “Anything, sir. Simply say the words.” Dean requested, pen and paper in hand. The room could hear Dalton laughing, the sound of his mask loosening. The loud static was coming back. “Amber May, baby, I made it. You let my little girl know Daddy wasn’t scared. That he can’t come home but my god will I always be there. You tell my angel I’ll be watching down on her like I am right now when she dances her first time at prom. You tell her that Daddy will be listening when she has her heart broken for the first time, and that I will be smiling when she dances at her wedding. You tell Amber May I love her, and it literally goes beyond the moon and back.” “This is Command Pilot Dalton Andrew Jamison signing off one last time, thank you Dean Sanders.” For one last time Dalton looked at the earth, watching it with a smile, knowing somewhere on that vast planet his girl and wife were at home. He slowly took off his helmet, he could feel the red sand push against his face before the galaxy claimed him.