Sol 432, February 23, 2035
I don’t know how to put this into words, but some days, Mars feels like a dream I can’t wake up from. Not a good dream. Not a nightmare, either. Just… endless. Like I’m floating in time, waiting for something to change but knowing deep down that nothing will.
I knew it would be hard. I trained for years to be here. I wanted this. I still do. But no training could have prepared me for the silence. Not just the absence of sound but the kind of silence that seeps into your mind and makes you question if you even exist outside of this metal habitat. I talk to the others, of course. We joke we work, and we survive together. But at night, when it’s just me and the hum of the air filters, I feel small. So small. Like I could disappear, and the universe wouldn’t even notice. I dream of Earth a lot. My mother’s voice calling me for dinner. The smell of coffee in the morning. The way the sun felt on my skin. It’s strange—back on Earth, I never thought about the sun. It was just there, always. But here, under this artificial light, I would do anything to feel real sunlight again, to watch a sunset that wasn’t pale and distant through a layer of Martian dust. And yet, despite all of this, I don’t want to leave. The thought of going back to Earth feels just as strange as staying here forever.
This planet is cruel, but it’s also beautiful. I look out at the horizon, at the massive, rust-colored mountains that no human has ever touched, and I feel like I’m part of something bigger than myself. Maybe that’s why I stay. Maybe that’s why we all do. We are alone, but we are also the first. The first humans to breathe on this planet. The first to build a future where no life should exist. And even in the loneliest moments, that means something.
Tomorrow, I’ll wake up, put on my suit, and step outside into this cold, endless desert. I’ll feel the weight of the helmet on my head, the pull of Mars’ weaker gravity, and the crunch of red dust under my boots. And I’ll remind myself—this isn’t just survival. This is history.