My Daughter, on Mars.

12:01 am

The midnight air has cooled to a manageable temperature, and the moon glowing into the kitchen window is the only thing illuminating this room. It's just enough to spot the lighter in the kitchen drawer. I hold my breath and roll my thumb over the wheel. Once. Nothing. Twice. A momentary glimpse of a spark. Three times. Got it. I slowly lower it towards the counter, and hope to god it doesn't go out. Then, a subtle orange flame emerges.

For a few moments all I can do is stare down at this makeshift birthday cake: a stale Oreo topped with an overused candle. I remember finding this candle at the back of the cupboard 5 years ago. I jumped up and down, shouting and cupping my pregnant belly. My husband, Ben, ran into the room in a panic.

'Now they'll be able to make a wish on their birthdays,' I said.

What a naïve girl I was then. I worked myself up so much I went into labour that day. A few hours after giving birth, the doctor told me I had a healthy baby girl. I had never heard such terrible news in my life. Now here I am, celebrating her fifth birthday. The last birthday she’ll have with us.

A floorboard creaks behind me.

'Is it ready?'

I turn and scan the room. Leaning against the doorway, I can make out the silhouette of my son Holden.

'Bring in our girl,' I say.

In a swift movement, I lower the plate and the candle blows out.

'No, no, no. Please, no.'

I grab the lighter and desperately try to regain a spark. Once. Nothing. Twice. Nothing. Three times.

Nothing.

I fling it across the room in frustration. All I wanted was to see my little girl's face light up one last time.

'Mama?'

I wipe the tears off my cheek like it matters in this darkness.

'Can you find me, Celia?' I ask as I reach my arms out. Then, little fingers intertwined with mine. She sits on my lap, and leans against me.

'I'm 5 today,' she giggles.

'Happy birthday, my 5 year old.'

'What happened to the candle?' Holden says, slumping onto the floor next to me.

'Listen, candles don’t grant wishes. All that matters is you believe in the wish you’re making. There's no candle this year, but you can still have your birthday wish. Is that okay, sweet girl?'

Celia lets out another giggle, and taps me on the nose.

‘I wish you could come with me,’ she says.

‘You have to go first to keep daddy company. He’s there waiting for you.’

Lie.

‘And remember, Holden and I will meet you there. We just have to stay here for a little while longer.’

Double lie.

‘Come on, Celia. Let’s get dressed,’ Holden reaches out his hand and leads her out of the room.

We became creatures of the darkness long ago. It’s easier to sleep through the heat of day and navigate our way through the night. Crawling across the dusty floor I reach for my bag and rummage around for the cigarette at the bottom of it. My husband found an old pack of smokes a few years ago, with two cigarettes left in it. We both decided to save them for Celia’s fifth birthday. I smoked one the day he died, but managed to save the other for this moment.

Heading back to the kitchen counter, I search for the lighter and find it in shatters.

‘Great,’ I say to myself.

I head for the front door. Although the heat is more bearable at night, I can still feel my skin warming to the heavy air. I walk up the front steps of our neighbor’s house and knock 6 equal, consecutive times on the door. That has been our code for the past decade.

‘Delilah?’

‘You got a lighter, Damian?’ I ask.

‘Two seconds.’

I hear movement in the house, and then out walks Damian.

‘Here you go,’ he says, handing me a matchbook.

‘Thanks.’

I light the cigarette and take a long drag, staring out at the ocean in front of us.

‘Sometimes I still can’t believe that used to be an entire state,’ Damian says.

‘It was called Florida, wasn’t it?’

We haven’t had electricity for years, which meant no internet access. Trying to remember faded pieces of information has gotten increasingly more difficult. We still don’t know what’s going on in other parts of the world. It’s hard enough keeping tabs on the people still surviving in our small town.

‘I got a letter from the water company last week. My next appointment is at 5am. I’ll give you half of what they give me.’

‘Today is Celia’s birthday.’

I take another drag of the cigarette.

‘That’s today? I’m so sorry. Listen, I can skip this appointment. I have enough to last me a while longer. I’ll go with you.’

‘No. I need to do this alone.’

I flick my cigarette into the water, and watch it sizzle and sink to the bottom. The oceans have become dangerously acidic now, and the purification machines they use to filter it have started burning upon contact. I don’t know how much longer we’ll be able to receive our monthly supply of clean water.

It has been 12 years since The Abandonment. I remember watching the news the day this all started. An excited news presenter exclaimed:

‘After a nearly century long operation, Red Globe believes they have succeeded at creating a sustainable environment for human life on Mars. The very first commercial flights will begin in 2071 and are estimated to be priced at just over $2 million per ticket. Red Globe’s CEO, Jeff Palmer, and pregnant wife Lisa will join the crew on Mars this summer and will become the first permanent inhabitants of the red planet. Their unborn child will become the first Martian.’

A giant leap for the survival of humanity brought so much hope to people like us, who were barely getting by. The commercial flights were successful, and seats were filled with world leaders and public figures. The thing was though, none of them ever came back. Next it was CEOs of large companies, celebrities, politicians, then small company owners and those with a lucky inheritance. For 3 years we watched as more and more people migrated to Mars.

Slowly, stores began to shut down. Then utility companies, so no electricity or gas. Everyone stopped working, and spent their time breaking glass windows of abandoned grocery stores and just trying to survive. There was an abundance of life lost during this time.

Ben and I managed to get by on our own rations, and then we had a visit from a few Red Globe representatives. Apparently something in Mars’ atmosphere caused infertility on a mass scale in both women and men. We were informed that they would need fertile women on earth to provide a child for families on Mars. As they told me this, I laughed out loud. Karma has a way of finding you.

With no order now on earth, they could do anything they want. They were already letting us die, for god’s sake, there wasn’t anything they wouldn’t ask of us. I told them that wasn’t happening, and they told me my water allowance would be cut off immediately. 10 months later I gave birth to Holden.

Holden was born with a heart deficiency, the same one that took Ben in the end. Red Globe decided we could keep him, meaning I could watch my son struggle his whole life rather than send him to another planet. Well, thanks so much.

I was still required to provide a child, and managed to put it off for 5 more years. Then came Celia. She was the image of health. They informed us that we could have her for the first five years. Not out of compassion, of course, but rather to test her will to survive. Ben died three years in, leaving me here to deal with the unavoidable alone.

‘Thanks for the matches,’ I wave goodbye to Damian and head back home.

6:01 am

‘Am I going now, mommy?’ Celia asks, staring at the man by our front door.

I try to run my fingers through her hair, but the knots have become too stubborn to break through. Things like this always make me feel her going away would be better in the long run. When she lays next to me at night and I can hear her stomach rumble. When we receive a new supply of water and she gargles down every drop she's given. It’s for the best, Delilah, I tell myself. Let her go.

Staring at my daughter, I feel a twisted feeling of contentment. I am not fighting back tears, or begging for my heart to stop aching in my chest. When you spend half a decade with nothing to do but prepare for the inevitable, you almost spread the grief out and deal with it in advance.

My daughter, on Mars... That’s how I’ll start my introductions once we figure all of this out and rebuild this world. I’ll find comfort in imagining the look on Celia’s face the first time she sets eyes on someone else her age. Her breathing in cool, clean air for the first time and enjoying the sun without the burn. I’ll imagine that she’s okay, and better off worlds away.

God, I wish Ben was here.

‘Do you remember when you asked me if you could have this?’ I rip the heart-shaped locket from my neck and place it in her hands.

‘You said maybe when I’m bigger,’ she opens the locket and smiles down at the picture inside.

‘That’s daddy and I at our wedding. A wedding is something you used to do when you wanted to promise someone that you’ll always love them. You’re bigger now, and it’s time for you to have it. Just remember what it means.. that I will always love you. ’

She says nothing, just runs her finger over the picture in her hand.

Twenty Five Years Later

I sit on the front porch steps, taking small sips from my bottle. This is the same house I have always lived in, but a lot has changed since those days worrying about where and who Celia would end up being. I lost Holden 14 years ago. I walked into his room one morning, and saw him lying on his bed peacefully. Gone in his sleep, just like his father.

When the silence in this house gets to be too much, I head to Damian’s. The comfort of our friendship has been the sole reason I keep myself going most days. I continue to imagine where my little girl is and what she’s doing. It would’ve been her 30th birthday today, and I hope she’s happy. I picture that they cured infertility on Mars and she has children of her own, maybe even someone who loves her.

There are footsteps coming from the side of the house, and I instinctively tiptoe to my front door for security.

‘Wait. Please, wait.’

I turn and see a woman approaching the house, with her hands up in surrender. She is young and beautiful, but what I notice more than anything is how clean she is. No tattered clothes or dirt stained cheeks. She’s wearing a silver suit which seems to combat the heat of the afternoon sky, and her blonde curls sit neatly upon her shoulders. Her face is unfamiliar to me at first, but the locket shimmering upon her neck tells me everything I need to know about who she is.

‘You have no idea how long I’ve been searching for you. We don’t have a lot of time. Please, come with me, mom,’ she says.

My daughter. Back from Mars.