Signal Of The Sanguine
A Science Fiction Flash Fiction
Written by Jeff Walker
Story Concept by Joanna Walker
Ella sat in the hollowed shell of the colonial greenhouse dome, knees tucked to her chest, a cracked transmitter clutched in her gloved hands. Her breath fogged inside the cracked helmet. She kept it on, even though the air was technically breathable—barely. The dust stung their lungs. The rain made their skin peel. This planet was a lie.
They arrived four years ago. Months passed in cryo for them, decades for Earth. Haven was meant to be a new beginning. Its name reflected that hope. The planet had oceans, soil, and trees. But nothing habitable for human life; The air was thin, the water was undrinkable, and crops failed. Wildlife remained elusive. Perhaps they were watching, waiting.
Fifty of them came, now there was only eight left, maybe seven. Torres, Ella’s mother, hadn’t come back from exploring the furthest horizon beyond the dome enclosure. Her father, Dennis, never returned either. Now, she was an orphan.
At night, Ella heard the other remaining colonists whisper things that didn’t make sense—about voices in the trees, shadows in reflections. She kept her distance from them. She was sixteen now, but they still called her “the kid.” The one who clung to the transmitter like it was a holy relic.
“Earth’ll answer,” she stated, more to herself than anyone. “They’ll come back.”
Mara, the chief botanist, now roamed about in a deep depression. Her sanity was slipping away like the others, and barely slept at all anymore. She mocked the teen girl. “They’re dead, Ella. They sent us out here as a last attempt to save humanity. Face it… Earth’s a ghost.”
Ella had memories of old Earth—barely. They were a few images in her mind that would stand out. The gray skies, the ration packs, the protest drones overhead. She remembered the moment their ship lifted off, everyone cheering. A funeral dressed as a victory.
Now she spent every evening at the communication tower on the ridge, antenna pointed homeward, sweeping the stars for any glimmer of hope.
She was the only one that hadn’t given up. The only one that hadn’t gone insane from the isolation. But, each day was a struggle, hunger and thirst was growing each passing month, supplies were thinning out.
“They will come…” She professed over and over.
Then, a signal came on a Tuesday. A flicker of static, then a voice—clear, calm, piercing the silence of the room.
“This is Earth Command broadcasting to Haven Colony One. If anyone is receiving… Earth is restored. Pollution levels have dropped below pre-industrial levels. Global cooperation has unified under the Restoration Treaty. You are not forgotten. We are coming.”
Ella blinked. She fiddled with the dials and turned the antenna to keep with the signal. Her eyes widened as she whispered at the device. “Say that again…”
The message repeated. Same words. Same soft certainty.
She screamed, jubilant, and bolted out of the communications tower, holding the device in hand. She ran down the slope to camp, waving the receiver. “They heard us! Earth’s alive!”
The others, those that were still half sane, gathered, gaunt and silent. They listened.
They remained silent. Ella was puzzled by their reaction, a lack of enthusiasm. Mara, laughed and mocked the girl.
“No return frequency,” Mara sniped. “Just a one-way beacon.”
“No…” Ella’s bottom lip quivered. “They’re coming, you heard it!”
Mara shook her head in response. The girl lowered the receiver and stared at it.
“But… they’re coming,” Ella stated.
Mara looked at her with something that might’ve once been pity. “Do you know how long it takes to get here, Ella? Decades. We won’t last that long. We can’t survive that, we only have a matter of weeks left, no one is coming… no one in that short amount of time.”
Ella turned away. “I don’t believe you. They’re on their way. They will come.”
No one answered. No one would meet her gaze. Not even the stars above.
Weeks passed. Two more colonists died. One walked into the sea. Another simply stopped waking up. Mara became weak and lay about catatonic. Ella scrounged for anything to keep herself alive. She managed another few weeks, barely a month.
The message kept repeating. A ghost loop echoing from a world reborn.
Ella sat by the transmitter until the solar battery blinked its last.
No power. No more Earth.
She scratched a message into the dome wall with a shard of a broken visor.
We were here. We tried.
She lay back, watching the violet sky ripple with unfamiliar clouds. Ella imagined green fields, real fruit, an un-poisoned sky with breathable air. She imagined a ship streaking toward her, just visible on the horizon. The rescue she’d always hoped for. She closed her eyes and smiled, because pretending was the last thing she could still survive on.
© 2025 Jeff Walker
