Struggling Beyond the Moon: Graham Dean's Arduous Descent From Illusions

Graham Dean was the first human to walk on Mars. He was among the first generation of humans to leave the planet and venture into the stars.

He had trained for years, decades, for this moment. The moment where he would finally leave the atmosphere and venture out into the endless sea of stars.

It was a dream that had driven him to push harder and harder, to grasp every opportunity he could to be one of the few selected to go. And now, he was living his dream. He could see the red planet's surface below him. He could see the infinite expanse of space all around him. But it wasn't nearly as exciting as he thought it would be.

He had read once that most astronauts who went on these space missions suffered from some form of mental illness. They were prone to anxiety and depression. And it made sense to Graham.

The isolation. The loneliness. The endless days, weeks, months spent in your own head thinking about nothing but yourself. It was more than most people could handle.

For Graham, it was perfect. He hated being around other people. He hated making eye contact with someone else. He hated the way their eyes looked at him. The way they judged him and the way they saw so much of their own reflection in him.

No, he preferred the quiet solitude of space. It was the only place he felt safe.

He wasn't sure when it started. It felt like he had been up here for an eternity. Years and years. Decades. Centuries.

It felt like he had always been in this small ship. It felt like he had always been alone in the cold embrace of space. But he knew he hadn't. He knew the crew came back every two years, on rotation. He knew the physics of how long it should take to get here.

But here and there, he felt himself slip. Feel the tether snap. See the stars warp and bend. Hear their voices echo in his mind. Feel his eyelids grow heavy and his head ache.

And then he would snap awake. On the ground. In a new body. With a new name. His memories just as twisted and warped as before.

He knew what was happening. He knew he was losing his mind. That he was slipping into madness. But there wasn't much he could do about it. He wanted nothing more than to leave the ship, to walk out onto the red soil of Mars.

And he did. He walked out of the ship, onto the red soil of Mars. Every time. He would walk hundreds of feet out onto the red soil of Mars. Then he would turn around and walk back to the ship.

He would sit down in the ship, wait for the rest of the crew to arrive, for the door to open. For the voices to start. And he would wait to return to the Earth.

Sometimes he would remember certain things. Sometimes he would remember details. Sometimes he would remember names. Sometimes he would remember faces.

But no matter how often he returned to the Earth, they never remembered him. No matter how much he tried, they never remembered him.

And so he would go back to the red soil of Mars. He would walk out onto the red soil of Mars. And he would wait for the voices.