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7th June
posted by amber

This is the second story that I wrote last year inspired by the writing of Ray Bradbury. This story was inspired by one of the short stories in  The Martian Chronicles, and the first line adapted from one of his.


When the wind came through the sky, he and his small family sat in the stone hut and warmed their hands over a wood fire. Actually it was the idea of a wood fire, a little holographic trick, the warmth created in their hands and bodies by an algae spray which had been developed on Mars. But the trick made them feel warmer, as the cold wind seeped through the cracks in the building.

They’d taken so much from the planet, and given so much to it as well, but they’d never been able to control the wind.

They’d been camping and exploring and digging for a week, their sturdy tent a good shelter until the wind came, driving them into the stone hut with its empty air tanks and appliances whose function they could only guess at. The hut was old, dating back to the earliest years of human occupation. The wind had scoured its outer walls over the long decades, had patiently gritted between the metal door and the stone frame to leave drifts of dust inside.

“Wouldn’t it be neat if a Martian walked through the door right now?” his son asked.

The door creaked and his daughter squealed, then whined, “Dad, tell him to stop scaring me!”

136 years mankind had been on Mars and they had only recently discovered the Martians, their huge bones buried deep in the planet’s strata, departed from the land a million years before.

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