Mercury

by Luca Aiello
Mercury Luca is a 13-year-old short story writer. Besides writing stories, he enjoys playing ice hockey in his free time.

“It was on the red cinnamon hill. The rocket. It glistened in the sun. Their very own rocket that had blasted the two off to Mercury. It was in beautiful condition, ready to take off. They’d had enough of Mercury. The awful heat, it was so close to the sun. Every ration of water felt like an oasis in the middle of a raging desert.”

 

“I see it!” said Davis. “In the distance.”

It was on the red cinnamon hill. The rocket. It glistened in the sun. Their very own rocket that had blasted the two off to Mercury. It was in beautiful condition, ready to take off. They’d had enough of Mercury. The awful heat, it was so close to the sun. Every ration of water felt like an oasis in the middle of a raging desert.

“Then to Earth. Good Earth,” Wilson remarked. “Back to society. Food, water, more than just a drop or a bite every few hours. I’m shaking just thinking about it!”

They ran on the orange sand in their astronaut boots. If they took off their boots, their feet would burn.

“I need a shower,” whined Davis. “I haven’t showered in weeks!”

“There we go, it’s the rocket.” Wilson smiled, closing his eyes. “Back home.”

But something was wrong. The rocket was destroyed. Its red top was blown off. It had scrapped metal with holes inside it. The door had fallen off.

“What?! This isn’t how we left it when we went on our mission!” Davis screamed.

“The Mercurians… ” Wilson muttered. “They did it! Of course! It all makes sense now! They destroyed our rocket and put a vision in our head to make us think everything was okay!”

“How?” asked Davis.

“Telepathy!” explained Wilson.

“Now, now,” Davis patted him on the back, “I’m sure this is a misunderstanding.”

“This isn’t a misunderstanding! This is real! Are you one of them?!” he accused. “You are! Aren’t you?!”

“Wilson!”

“The Mercurians!” Wilson ran off into the distance.

“The Mercurians!” It was a loud echo through the desert.

“Poor Wilson,” said Davis. “The heat must’ve driven him insane.”

 

***

 

The next day, Davis stood by the rocket on his walkie-talkie, trying to communicate with Mission Control.

“Pick up!” he yelled. “Pick up!” But he only heard static white noise.

Wilson returned with a shotgun in his hand.

“Get off my planet!” Wilson warned. “Or else… ”

“Is this a joke?” Davis laughed.

“I’ll count to three,” Wilson counted.

“Alright, alright.”

“One.”

“Stop!”

“Two,” Wilson said, staring into Davis’ eyes.

“Quit it!”

“Three!”

A blast went into the ground. It was a bullet.

“Get off my planet!” Wilson screamed.

***

 

Davis ran for hours and hours on end. The rocket and Wilson couldn’t be seen anymore.

He soon saw, in the middle of all the dunes, a cottage. As he stepped inside, it was paradise. It had a long table, filled with food of all kinds. Each plate was with a glass of water or lemonade. Shelves were filled with books and movies. Walls had beautiful paintings painted by talented artists. Music was playing in the background.

However, he was too engrossed in the trance to notice the lurking shadows crawling out of every corner behind him. Ready to attack.

 

***

 

“Hello, Wilson.” Davis stood by the rocket, which was in perfect condition, ready to fly.

“Hi, Davis.” Wilson walked up. “Are we ready to fly?”

“Yes.” Davis turned on his walkie-talkie. “The space voyage has been successful,” he reported.

And as they flew off, they sometimes turned into the very thing they feared. Their skins were sometimes green. They now had purple organs. At one point, another eye was on Wilson’s forehead, but it later disappeared. They left another lonely day on the lonely planet Mercury.

 

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