Indescribable oppression, which seemed to generate in some unfamiliar part of her consciousness, filled her whole being with a vague anguish. It was like a shadow, like a mist passing across her soul's summer day. It was strange and unfamiliar; it was a mood. She did not sit there inwardly upbraiding her husband, lamenting at Fate, which had directed her footsteps to the path which they had taken. She was just having a good cry all to herself. The mosquitoes made merry over her, biting her firm, round arms and nipping at her bare insteps.

Stranded. Yes, she was now the first person ever to land on Venus, but that was of little consequence. Her name would be read by millions in school as the first to land here, but that celebrity would never actually be seen by her. She looked at the control panel and knew there was nothing that would ever get it back into working order. She was the first and it was not clear this would also be her last.

You can decide what you want to do in life, but I suggest doing something that creates. Something that leaves a tangible thing once you're done. That way even after you're gone, you will still live on in the things you created. she'll prove she can again. We all already know this and you will too.