The Visitor by Ray Bradbury

Saul Williams awoke to the still morning. He looked wearily out of his tent and thought about how far away Earth was. Millions of miles, he thought. It was very bad. But then what could you do about it? Your lungs were full of the “blood-rust.” You coughed all the time.

Saul arose this particular morning at seven o’clock. He was a tall man, lean, thinned by his illness. It was a quiet morning on Mars, with the dead sea bottom flat and silent, no wind on it. The sun was clear and cool in the empty sky. He washed his face and ate breakfast.

After that, he wanted very much to be back on Earth. During the day he tried every way that it was possible to be in New York City. Sometimes, if he sat right and held his hands a certain way, he did it. He could almost smell New York. Most of the time, though, it was impossible.

Later in the morning, Saul tried to die.

He lay on the sand and told his heart to stop. It continued beating. He imagined himself leaping from a cliff or cutting his wrists, but laughed to himself—for he knew he lacked the nerve for either act.