Mud coated my exosuit boots as I moved toward the day’s co-ordinates. My breath replaced the once-rhythmic wash of waves.
“Water levels still decreasing, decided when you’re returning?”
“Another season won’t hurt,” I glanced at the data, deep activity readings implied microscopic life, “hate to lose ground.”
The receding waters left behind new questions previous researchers hadn’t wanted to ask.
“Too much ground out there to lose.” Seated on opposite ends of the world, our laughter was dry. The comms crackled.
Rust-red soil glistened as I imagined secrets beneath the Martian surface, an expanse of hidden life, watching, waiting.
© 2021 Rebecca Glaessner
October 14: Flash Fiction Challenge « Carrot Ranch
In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story that embraces the mud. What is the mud, real or metaphor? How does it transform a character or place? What happens? Go where the prompt leads!
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