Isolation

He keeps a journal. The rest is waiting.

The cold, desolate surroundings reminded me of a strange mix of the Salt Flats of Bolivia and the Sahara Desert, seemingly stretching on for an eternity. The only noise I could hear was the howling winds and the beating of my own heart. I suddenly felt a deep, sinking feeling as I looked around at the 360 degrees of barren land before me. The sun, a pale dot on the horizon, was quickly setting, and the 5 °C daytime temperatures would soon give way to a cold, unforgiving night of less than -125 °C.

I entered the small craft that had brought me here and watched as night quickly arrived. I tried to fall asleep but was awakened an hour later, my chest pounding like a jackhammer. This pattern would repeat itself several times throughout the night as the burden of being in a new, undiscovered place, alone, would continue to resonate deep within, frequent feelings of loneliness washing over my body like the ice-cold North Sea.

I remembered the instructions I had received months earlier. Contact with anyone else would be slow, and delays could take hours or even days, making consistent contact nearly impossible. At the time, I was adamant that I was the right man for the job. However, presently, all I could do was reflect on my choice to come here. It was an easy escape from a recently broken heart, but was it a choice made in haste?

I somehow managed to make it half a year, my journal my only solace and key to the limited sanity that remained. "It has been more than six months since I last heard from you. The stinging realization that I am trapped here forever is setting in as despair overtakes any hope that I will ever see you again. I left you, and now I must deal with the consequences of my actions. I suppose you have moved on, and being so far away, there is absolutely nothing I can do." The helpless feeling was chipping away at my very psyche as I laid my pen down and listened to the strong gusts of wind pounding against the craft. I had not been outside in weeks, as the storm was kicking up so much red dust and sand that I could not see even a meter out the window. I was running out of supplies and patiently awaited a new, unmanned craft that would bring me my much-needed nourishment and key provisions. As well as a message from her, I hoped. That hope kept me going, but a lack of any message might have the opposite effect, and I was afraid of this possibility. In some ways, I was fearful at the thought of checking, once the gusts died down. I struggled to fall asleep as my heart thumped relentlessly, generating so much lactic acid I thought I would not be able to breathe.

Eventually, the storm did die down, and after another restless night, I opened the craft door. The air was so thin my breaths came in shallow gasps as I stepped out and spotted, about 500 meters away, an unmanned craft with much-needed rations and, hopefully, the other half of my heart...