February 12, 2035
Our first ever shipment of supplies arrived today. Life has been tough here on Mars but considering all the opportunities with which we are presented I cannot say the scientist in me does not rejoice with the possibility of a breakthrough. The DNA samples collected from workers are uncorrupted so far, and it seems the “cancerous dust” was a mere spell of paranoia…
February 28, 2035
An odious incident took place today. One of the engineers assigned to the management of drones was brought to the lab in a state of hysteria. They said he was in the control room, and there didn’t seem to be any issues with the progression of the mining task. “We were so very close to SpaceY’s quota for this month.” they said. But, apparently soon after everyone except our patient went on their lunch break (he wanted to keep working) they heard shouting from the control room and were met with him slamming the control panel continuously. One can only speculate what happened, but I suppose the existential dread can get to all of us. Regrettably, this means over-time for us so I better get back to work.
April 3, 2035
No shipments since the last. Supplies are running short. Communication with mainland highly limited. More of our men have fallen to delusion. Confusion and panic are starting to take over.
May 26, 2035
I saw a man eat his friend alive. He cried with tears of joy as he filled his mouth with the blood-drooping flesh of his kin. My colleagues and I have shut ourselves into the lab, we are using our experimental growth projects for sustenance. I cannot tell how long we will hold up. All communication with Earth has been severed. They won’t come looking for us.
June 13, 2035
Electricity went out. We can no longer access the database or try to communicate with satellites. Life-support is kept up with the emergency generator. In the best-case scenario, we have 6 months until we run out of fuel.
July 4, 2035
Samantha killed herself. She told us not to try and stop her. No one did.
July 30, 2035
We saw a rogue drone through the window. It was doing the Gangnam Style dance. We all laughed. Samantha is lumbering somewhere out there in the dust storm, as we threw her out of the garbage shoot. Without any decomposers her body should stay mostly intact for a while still.
September 6, 2035
The engine compartment exploded. We saw it go up in flames from our little window. All the remaining fuel is gone. We have days left to live before we freeze and suffocate. Jeffrey shot himself. We left his body as it is. I don’t imagine it will have enough time to rot.
The cold came first. A cold that chills you to your bones. I don’t remember when I stopped feeling my fingers, but I do remember watching them slowly turn black. Although I knew I was running out of oxygen, my lungs didn’t hurt at all. My mother screamed and screamed for me not to leave. It was unbearably annoying. I fought to stay awake, even though I knew it was completely pointless. Then, everything was blue. Home.