I just can’t go on!”

“C’mon! We don’t have much further!”

Henry collapsed on the red sand, sending up a lazy cloud of dust. Sweat poured down his face and bared chest, already burned from the sun. His once white jumpsuit was now grey and red from dust and sweat and grime. Commander Jackson took a staggering step towards Henry, before he too fell to his knees. Daniel’s hands, weakened from the strain, helped Jackson to his feet.

“Henry! Just keep going one step at a time!” cried Daniel.

“You fool! You naïve fool! We are already done for. We are just being toyed with, don’t you see? We are in hell!” Henry pointed up to the two blazing suns that beat down on them. “See!? See!? Those are the eyes of the devil himself! Those mocking, mocking eyes!”

“He’s gone mad!” muttered Jackson in concern, horrified at the raving lunatic that Henry had become. He cast a glance back across the glimmering sands. Somewhere out there lay the shimmering wreckage of their ship, along with the bodies of the rest of the crew. How long had they been walking? Far too long, it seemed. Already their skin burned and blistered under the unrelenting sun, and the dust clung to everything.

“Henry! Calm down, we just have to make it further. This desert can’t last forever. We saw greenery and water when we flew over. We can make this!” Daniel pleaded, taking a step towards Henry.

“Don’t!” hissed Henry, his eyes flashing murder for a brief moment, “Don’t touch me,” he said again, gaining control once more.“Just leave me to my judgment. I have many sins to repent,” Henry whispered softly.

“But”—started Daniel. Henry cut him short.

“Go!!”

Jackson grabbed Daniel by the arm and dragged him from Henry, who started to lie down on his back, muttering nonsense under his breath. The two men continued on under the two blazing suns, leaving Henry to die alone.

A few more hours passed, causing one of the suns to dip lower in the horizon while the other took its place high in the deep blue of the unforgiving sky. The two men walked along, silent, not having enough energy to speak through cracked, bleeding lips. The red, red sand, looking like dried blood of the thousands that they imagined had perished in the desert, spread around them, touching the blue sky in the horizon. Not a touch of wind moved the sand, the only disturbance caused by Daniel’s and Jackson’s shuffling footfalls.

“Water…” whispered Daniel with a tone of awe and eagerness in his dry, cracking voice.

“I know, I’m thirsty too,” answered Jackson, turning his weary head to regard his companion. Jackson stopped moving, seeing Daniel staring into the horizon.

“Daniel…”

Daniel’s eyes were glazed over as he stared into the distance, a half-crazed smile on his face. His small, choking laugh was the eeriest thing of all.

“Commander! Don’t you see it? The most beautiful...” Jackson looked at his friend with worry. “Hahahah! I never would have expected it. That beach! Those green, green waters. I can smell the sea already!”

“Daniel… please,” he implored, but Daniel was already running, a hysterical laugh escaping his lips. Jackson sank to his knees, watching his only companaion running away. He watched Daniel run to the horizon, chasing a mirage he would never find. Jackson didn’t even have enough water left in his body to cry.

Jackson stood up wearily, using every ounce of his strength and continued on, alone. He shuffled forward, moving the only thing on his mind, hoping, wishing for water, for rescue. Finally, he couldn’t move anymore. He didn’t realize he had stopped till the sand hit his face as he fell.

Jackson rolled over onto his back, so the heat from the suns bathed his face. Henry was right. These were eyes, not of the devil, but of a vengeful god. They were judging all those who dared the trials of the desert, and they had failed. Jackson, his crew, Henry, and Daniel. All of them, all had failed.

Was this fate, then? A relatively minor malfunction on the ship, and they had missed their mark by just a slight margin of error. But in space even the slightest things could cause everyone to die. And here they were, a scattering of bodies across the desert. Jackson could only pray that someone in the heavens was around to hear their weakening signal.

Jackson closed his eyes, not having the strength to move, to care. He would die here, the sand eating away his flesh if ever a breeze came to this hell, his dried out blood joining the tiny granules of the red sand.

A shadow fell over his face, but Jackson didn’t care. He heard voices, but he was sure he was dreaming. He knew he was dying. And then rough hands picked him up, and cold, cold water splashed his lips. He drank greedily, and laughed.

“You’ll be alright now, Commander. We got your mayday signal.” The voice kept talking but Jackson ignored him. The water rolled down his throat like a bit of heaven, soothing, and so very cold! It invigorated him, restoring all the dry sand had sucked from his body. Above it all, the men helping Jackson to his feet and to their craft, the two blazing suns shimmered in the rising heat like the eyes of a laughing god.

Frank Etzler is a junior Biological Sciences and Anthropology major and a Literary writer for Generation.