It was a Saturday when it had all began, when the news started blasting. It was a Saturday when all the electricity went out and the heat seemed to light the world on fire. I remember red, it was everywhere. It was the color of our future, of fire, and of blood. Red took on a new meaning, it meant death. Sectors of cities painted red, the paint shouting to stay away, to forget that you were there. I remember that day almost like it was branded into my brain as a reminder, a reminder of what I needed to do. Ever since that Saturday all I could think about was my mission… my purpose. I needed to figure out how to stop what so many other scientists agreed on, or at least find out how to escape. The sun was dying, a premature death astronomers debate. It didn’t matter that there were over eight billion people on the earth, nature stopped for no one.

It’s been a month and currently I live in New York City working as one of the few female engineers to build some of the biggest spaceships in history. We need to build as many ships as possible before heat levels rise even more, and we all melt into the parched earth. We have already finished designing these ships and are now  in the building stage. I work with hundreds of other engineers and scientists from all around the globe to solve this problem. We have already completed three ships, but our goal is one hundred. I take a deep breath of the steamy air and scurry over to my building. As I walk into one of the only buildings with electricity I sigh as the frigid air washes over me. My trip to my office is short and uneventful. I plop down into my chair and start poring over blueprints and a list of names.

Eight excruciating months of work detail later I walk proudly on to the last of the ships, grinning from ear to ear. Building the spacecrafts that would save us from the death surrounding the planet took less time than anticipated. I dart toward the hollow dome where many of the other inhabitants are gathering. I hear whispers of excitement bounce around the room.  

“Did you hear that we might be leaving today?” one girl asks me.

“Actually yes, I think this is what the meeting is for,” I inform her. I knew we were leaving, lift offs always stay on schedule.

“Isn’t this exciting, we are finally free from the red,” the girl smiles at me.

“Yes, I think everyone will benefit mentally, and physically from this liberation,” I sympathize. She nods understandingly and turns back to face the podium. A hush falls over the crowd as a man, who looks to be the captain, appears behind the podium.

“Everyone, today is the final day we will be on Earth. We understand that many of you are nervous about entering the atmosphere, but please do not panic. We have many employees who will inform you of protocol. We will lift off in two hours. Remember, this is not an escape, it is a new start to the life we took for granted.” The captain stated cooly, turning away from the crowd. I glance around the room one last time before exiting to find my station. I had already been briefed on the protocol and I knew I had a few errands to run before lift off.  

I race down the halls sliding along the polished floor, I was almost out of time. I had five minutes to get to my station and get prepped for lift off. As I sprint down the long, twisting corridors, I glance out the windows. What I saw made me glad that the inside of the craft is climate controlled, staying at a temperature of seventy-two degrees. Outside it looked like all of the life had been drained from the earth. The ground was cracked, fires had started, and there weren’t even any flies buzzing about. That wasn’t even the worst part. The sky was no longer blue, instead it was red and orange, beating down on the lifeless ground. It looked as though the world had been set on fire. Burning away life and hope, until all that was left was a barren wasteland of decay. I slow to a stop, gazing into the all consuming fires. I can’t help but grin as I imagine the opportunities that this trip produces, the new discoveries, and the new found freedom many of the passengers on this ship could appreciate.

I manage to lock myself into my seat with only one minute left. Over the loudspeaker I can hear the countdown, ten, my eyes scan the room nervously. Nine, I swallow, oh God oh God, oh God. Eight, my breathing quickens. Seven, six, five. I’m feeling sick. Four, why did I agree to this? Three, I can hear the blood pounding in my ears. Two, one, I squeeze my eyes shut tightly. There's a sudden jolt, and then … nothing? I glance out of the window, the sky is rushing up, stars are appearing. They speed by, shining  like diamonds in the night. The voice comes over the loudspeaker again.

“Ladies and gentlemen we are officially out of Earth's atmosphere. We are plotting our course towards the Asteroid Belt. If you look out your window you can see Earth. Please remain seated until notified.”  I glance out my window again, only to see a husk of the earth. It’s a joke to call that planet Earth. It isn’t full of life, green, or covered in glorious oceans. This planet is all desert, sand, and decay everywhere. The wildfires are so prominent and agonizing that I can see them from this ship. It will be a while until we can roam the halls of this ship; I yawn, might as well take a nap.

I awake to a persistent clicking noise. On one of the walls surrounding me a screen flickers to life. The flickering screen grabs my attention, pulling me inwards towards the jumbling of thoughts inside my head. I stare at the screen unblinkingly, what lies outside these walls? The Earth was our past, but what is our future? I unbuckle and pad over. The screen blinks again, but this time a survey appears. I start answering questions, once I’ve finished, the screen blinks again and the word, engineer, appears. The door opens and a woman walks through. Immediately I recognize her as one of the crew members. She’s dressed all in a white dress with navy sleeves. She’s wearing a navy cap over her hair which is done up in a severe bun.

“I’m here to drop off your uniform, schedule, and to inform you that dinner will be held within the hour,” she articulates, dropping a large duffel into my arms. She turns sharply on her heel then marches off. I dump the contents of my duffel on the floor of my room. Inside is a uniform with my name and and engineer written across the back. There is a folder with a schedule and a few tools as well as some rope and water bottles. I quickly change into my uniform, and grab my schedule. I rush down to the engine room, fill in some paperwork and go over to my new station where I will be working on developing a new agricultural system.

The last three months spent on this ship flash through my mind as the emergency alarms flash and a siren goes off. It’s finally happened, we’ve run out of fuel! Some of the engineers I’ve worked with have been tasked with finding a new way to fuel the ship, but so far no headway has been made. I run back to my room, and strap myself into the seat. Over the loudspeaker a woman is reminding everyone to calm down, and strap themselves in. Calm down, seatbelts on, calm down, seatbelts on. Over and over again spinning around in my head, spinning, spinning, spinning.

I awake with a start, my immediate thought is Where are we? I glance out the window, around me is red, like Earth this red is surrounding, excessive. Unlike Earth this red is full of life, and peace, like a fire … but without all of the burning. I look around my room, items have been thrown around, clothes swept around, and the screen on the wall is cracked. I unbuckle and throw open my door. Outside people are in different states of distress, some have cuts and bruises, others look like they’ve awoken from a long nap. I start running down the halls, toward the main hall where we first met all those months ago. I was right standing at the podium is the captain.

“As all of  you have heard, this craft has run out of fuel.” At cries of anguish, the captain raises his hands for silence. “I understand that you are concerned, but we have our best scientists and engineers working to solve the problem. I must also inform you that we are running out of supplies, and must start rationing food.” An angry whisper snakes its way through the crowd, followed by sobs of despair. “Please understand that this isn’t a crisis. This is an opportunity,” the captain beams. “It’s a chance for a new life, a better life, a life filled with hope and happiness.” With that final statement the crowd’s angry whispers turned to excited jitters.

“Where are we now?” Someone shouts from the crowd.

“Currently we are on Jupiter,” the captain confesses. The crowd grows antsy, I hear laughter from one corner of the room and surprised shouts from the other. I look around, then dart toward the exit. I run to the scientist’s lab. I understand now. I understand what I was actually sent here to do.

“Do you,” gasp, “have the,” gasp, “air tests?” I question. The scientists look around and nod.

“The air should be safe, but the oxygen is much purer than what you’re used to, so you should bring this,” one scientist says picking up what looks like a gas mask from a large pile. Just like that my mind flashes back to the Saturday. I can stop it, the screams, the heat burning through the world, the endless feeling of drowning in a sea of fire, the red. I remember the silence that cascaded down a few days after, no buzz of machines or newscasters.  It had been as silent as death. In some regions, the air quality had become so toxic that masks were distributed. It was an out-of-body experience, wandering aimlessly without purpose. Until I was found, until I helped, until I saved lives! I blink back into reality, smiling my thanks I run to the exit hatch that workers use for repairs. I pull on the mask, open the hatch, and step into this new, red world, full of possibilities waiting, for the right people. For the first time in a year the color red has become beautiful again.