General

Violent wind storm whips orange dust into the atmosphere, the sky is a myriad of turbulent orange hues, as I peer out of my helmet's visor I am almost blinded by it's ferocity, raising my white gloved hand in front of my face to shield me from the worst of it is futile. Walking forwards in my space suit becomes difficult, battling against the relentless onslaught, like walking into a wall of swirling debris. My foot steps are immediately erased behind me as if I had not been there at all, like a great red desert. Only mission control for company, even the transmission is intermittent, sketchy. The clock is ticking, five minutes to get back to the rover, air running out.

By angela, March 14, 2012.
General

rocky, red sand because of rust, the north pole looks younger than the south pole, rovers exploring the surface looking for signs of life.

By magmabuzz, March 3, 2012.