Cheese and Bradbury…

I dream.

Sitting in my dining chair, clutching two skulls – one vaguely humanoid, the other definitely not. Phobos dimly illuminates the landscape around me as I sit somewhere on Mars, inflatable skeleton space suit, pointy head, and scared expression.

Something is crawling towards me across the red dust of the Martian surface. Something that I can’t quite make out as it moves between the rocks and rivulets left by the long past vanished Martian rain. There’s dust in my throat, red Martian dust. My mouth is dry. I'd give anything for a drop or two of that Martian water, anything.

There it is again. A glimpse of segmented body, the shimmer of light reflected on bloodied bone. Is that a slime trail? Can I really hear the clicking of dripping mandibles in the oxygen less air? Just how am I breathing? Am I breathing at all?

Am I already dead?

I dream on.

The lump-faced satellite in the empty sky above looks down seeing what I cannot see. I hear it searching, searching for something in this red desert, searching for something that it must have to stay alive.

And suddenly I know what it is searching for. It's looking for a drink, moisture - and the only moist thing around here is me.

I scream.