The small metal rocket filled with small men hurtled through the black void. They milled about in their small confines, like lab rats, excited about the prospect that they would be returning home soon.

“Why do you seem so down, Hanson?” Johnson asked. “You haven’t been the same since we left Mars.”

“I haven’t been feeling too well. I’m sure it’s just a stomach bug, I’ll be better soon,” Hanson replied, as he reclined back into his hard bed that he had called his home for the past months. The first men to Mars, ready to reap the benefits of a new planet. They would be celebrities once they returned. There were no signs of life on the red planet, but they found plenty of water and minerals sitting below the surface of the red dunes. Mission control was thrilled. Finally, a solution to the world’s resource crisis. With the right equipment, Earth would be able to colonize the planet easily.

Hanson turned onto his side, looking at the small postcard depicting a white sand beach, like a frayed window into a world he soon would be sitting in. He couldn’t wait to see the reporters circling around him like flies. He couldn’t wait for the talk show appearances and the Wheaties sponsorships. Hanson felt his nose start to run so he wiped it with his hand, still lost in thought. It kept running so he wiped again. But it kept running so he looked down, his hand was covered in streaks of red. “Oh shit,” he said under his breath. He quickly jumped up and went over to the tissues. He pressed one against his face, trying not let any blood drop on the floor. He pulled the tissue away to see how bad it was and he immediately felt warm liquid rush down his upper lip. He quickly grabbed for another and walked to the bathroom.

He pulled the small sliding door shut behind him and stared into the mirror. The blood was still rushing down his face and now dripping into the sink. “I never get nosebleeds like this,” he thought. He could hear Johnson and the other crew mates, their voices muffled through multiple walls of steel and insulation, celebrating in the main cabin, probably having the small bottle of whiskey they had been saving for the whole trip. Hanson looked up at the small bathroom light, yellowed and grimey. He turned his attention back toward the mirror, but something was off. There was something in his nose. Hanson pointed his face up and pulled his nostril to get a better view. The object slid forward and Hanson quickly leaned over, letting it fall into the sink. It made a small slapping sound as it hit the plastic bowl. “What the f,” Hanson thought, as he bent over to look at the small slimy object, about an inch in length. His nosebleed had stopped. The object then moved. Hanson backed away startled. It started sliding toward the drain, leaving a trail of red behind it. “What do I do, What do I do?” Hanson thought. “What is that thing? Is it from Mars?” He needed to show the other. Hanson reached his fingers toward the creature, trying to grab it, when it quickly turned and stung his wrist. “Oh no.” Hanson backed away, clutching his wrist. He pressed himself against the wall and slide down it until he was sitting on the floor. The whole room was spinning, blurry, darkening. He could faintly hear the crew in the other room, still jovial. “Hopefully one of them will find me soon,” Hanson thought as his vision became dark and his pulse slowed.

Months later as the small rocket came near Earth’s atmosphere, mission control attempted to make contact for the fifth time, to no avail. “Red Mission 1, come in. I repeat, Red Mission 1, do you copy.” Nothing. It had been silent for a couple months at this point. As the rocket hit Earth’s atmosphere at full speed, it began to burn up, breaking into pieces. It hit the Atlantic Ocean at 17,000 miles per hour.