Today I saw an asteroid in the sky. Or at least I thought it was. I remember sitting by the fireplace with a fortress of books around me. I sat on the floor and spotted a flicker coming from outside. A dense white ball cut the atmosphere through the window and glistened as it fell hard through the sky. It hit Mars's crust. Only football fields away from the hut.

How long has it been? Was I even obligated to fulfill the duties I had long ago done in this situation?

Here, good men came to die. My job was to put them in the ground.

I stood, walked to my bedroom, opened the closet door, and spread my clothes to find a drab black and red uniform—my spacesuit.

How long was it since I went outside?

I pulled the suit from the hook. It was lighter than I remembered and a notch higher than past spacesuits of history, like the ones first used to reach the moon. I stripped my pajamas and stepped into my spacesuit. It was soft, fitted, and my skin could breathe. If I jogged ten miles, the sweat would protrude out the spacesuit's one-way holes and roll right off. It was interesting material.

I looked at myself in the mirror. A wave of unfamiliar emotion swept over me, and I could not pinpoint the feeling. The suit was drab and filthy. I hadn't washed it in ages. Who was that in the mirror? The spacesuit made me look well built, even though I wasn't. I felt strong.

I left for the toolshed, grabbed my shovel, went to the garage, and pressed the buttons: green, yellow, green, yellow, red. The airlock doors opened and closed one by one as I stepped through them and out into the Martian wasteland. My helmet had a filter and augmented screen, so my vision was crisp, and Mars looked more beautiful than the normal eyesight could reveal. I took in the mountains, breathed in the oxygen tank, and stepped around the garage to find the dusty green tarp hanging over a hidden steed.

I pulled the tarp, and there it was: the old hovercycle. Holy shit, did it look old? I stepped over and straddled it. The cushioned seat was flat, and the touchscreen required a powerful punch to lift the hovercycle off the ground for standby. All functions were ago. I looked over the horizon where the asteroid had fallen. I hooked the shovel over my back. My hovercycle jostled forward and gained momentum. It shot like a floating racehorse for five football fields until reaching the end of the slope.

The fallen asteroid was a space pod with three chambers. Each opened up when sensors on the pod caught sight of me stepping off my hovercycle. Upon opening, the chambers' doors let out three plain hexagonal cases. Coffins.

I pulled the shovel out from over my shoulder and couldn't believe I was still doing this. It had been so long. Was anyone even going to pay me for burying these coffins? Did the service just assume I hadn't killed myself yet on Mars and expected I would run over to bury their dirty work for them like old times? I thought I was your regular Walden. But now, it seems I'm still a functioning part of society. Even though no one receives my radio signals. It's a one-way street.

The sun was already going down. Mars days are longer than Earth days by an hour. I better bury these guys and hurry back to the hut before it gets dark. I dug up three holes, which took me a record time of one hour. Twenty minutes per hole. Not bad if I say so myself. Dropping my shovel, I walked to the first coffin to pull it out of the pod, dragged it to the first hole, and shoved it in. I grabbed my shovel again and buried the coffin so there'd be a nice flat mound. Would anyone in the future go through the trouble of visiting this burial site? Why did rich guys pay for burials in a Martian desert where no one visits? Any flowers died without the proper oxygen.

I approached the second coffin, dragged it to the second hole, pushed it in, picked up my shovel and buried the guy. Winston Palmer. How did this guy make his fortune? He didn't bury the dead on Mars, that's for sure. I patted a neat mound for the dead guy and walked over to the final coffin.

This one had to be the nicest coffin I'd ever laid eyes on. Instead of a plane aluminum exterior, the second layer of carved oak gave the coffin a gorgeous shell. Again, a lot of money for no practical purpose. How many people did this guy kill for his money? I laughed. "Man, don't I wish I had your money, pal."

The coffin kicked! The coffin grew animated as though a live animal inside went rabid and was trying to get free. I dropped my hands from the coffin and fell backward. My heart was beating a thousand beats per second. I jumped to my feet and watched as the coffin struggled to break free of itself. There must be a live person inside. What the hell? How could this have happened?! Why would someone send a live person in a coffin to Mars to be buried forever?! This was not a part of my job description!

I heard muffled shouting from inside the coffin. Pure anger pervaded the cracks of the coffin's oak wood shell. My body shook, and my knees wobbled as I feared for my life. I had been alone on Mars for God knows how long now. The mere thought of a live creature scared me. I was so filled with emotion that I recoiled like a child. The shovel in my hand quaked. My hands were no longer under my control. The voice called out to me. But I didn't seem to have the power to speak back to it. The corpse begged for an answer. I gave none.

I threw my shovel at the coffin, run to my hovercycle and speed back to my hut as the sun set. It was growing dark, and I jumped off my hovercycle before it even slowed to park, and I fell on my hands and knees before getting to the garage. I hit the buttons and ran inside to the living room, where I grabbed for the radio.

"Hello? Hello? Can anyone hear me?"

My voice was frantic. I wished someone would hear me from the other side of the radio. Someone on Earth. "Please, somebody help! A live man is in the coffin! I repeat, a live man in the coffin! I don't know if he's dangerous or if he'll kill me if I let him out!" No one was listening. But I talked on. "If I let him out, I am afraid he will kill me. Please, I haven't seen another human being since the day you left me here." I was in tears now. "Please." I was weeping. "Please, somebody. Can anybody hear me? Anybody. Anyone? Please help me." I lost grasp of the table and dripping to the floor. I wept and buried my face in my hands. What was I to do? I, too scared to return to that coffin. But no one was listening.

I forced myself back to the garage, grabbed a space rifle for my protection, pressed green, yellow, green, yellow, red, hopped back on the hovercycle and jetted to the burial site. The sun disappeared. The hover cycle's headlight brightened the hole, the coffin, and the delivery pod. My shovel was off to the side, but what I wielded instead was my space rifle, and I pointed it at the coffin from afar. I trembled over a caged human being.

"Who are you?"

The undead corpse shouted back in a muffled perversion I couldn't quite understand. It might have been pleading. But my paranoia made me think the body was threatening. Threatening to kill me.