James, Death

The cold black night passed, and the sun rose in brilliant splendor.

Mars, another day.

James woke up feeling much better. As if he were about to recover.

But he knew perfectly well that it was only an illusion caused by having just awakened. The proof was simple: his feet had already turned badly black, and they would soon need to be amputated.

He thought of his great-grandfather, a machine gunner in the 1st Marine Division who had taken part in the Battle of Chosin Reservoir. In the bitter cold, exhausted from constant marching, he had finally been evacuated to a hospital. When he took off his boots, three rotten toes fell out of the stiff, frozen boots, and his legs were then amputated to the knees. The same frostbite had now appeared on James. But this time, no hospital would be waiting for him.

"Is the camera ready?" James got up and asked.

"It's ready." A colleague held the camera, his expression grave. "The sky outside has turned overcast again. It might rain."

"Good. I'll eat." James said.

His colleagues immediately brought over the food—space rations still packaged like toothpaste tubes. James squeezed down two tubes. Nausea nearly made him vomit, but he needed the strength, so he forced himself to swallow.

After eating, James let out a long breath.

"Help me get dressed," James said.

His colleagues gathered around and helped James put on his spacesuit.

As they dressed him, James kept watching his colleagues' expressions. Some were sad, some angry, some remained shocked—each wore a different look. The atmosphere inside the spacecraft resembled Da Vinci's famous painting, The Last Supper: Jesus was about to suffer, and the disciples all wore different expressions.

At last, everything was ready.

James checked the thermometer. The outdoor temperature had just risen