There have been tales of aliens since the dawn of civilisation. It is practically human nature to gaze up, into the stars and the great expanse beyond, and wonder…
'Is there anyone else out there?'
What would they be like? Would they walk and talk? Would they see this world and jump with joy, or weep?
The answer, it turns out, is the second.
There is a tale of one such alien. A starman who fell from the sky into a world changed and ravaged, bringing with them ideas once normal but now more alien than ever. Visions of music, art and dance, of people embracing and breaking bread with one another. Of hope.
When they saw those beyond the walls, shambling and viciois, and saw those within, bloodthirsty and snarling, they struggled to tell which was which. As the place they thought to call a new home tore itself apart around them, they left as many others did. Now the starman wanders the earth; occasionally some come across them, and they are ready to lend a helping hand whenever they are able. But they never stay for long. Old wounds heal slow.
Take a moment to think, dear child. Put yourself in this starman's boots. What must it have been like for them, to land in a world so alien from theirs? What was it that made this world so different? And do they ever wish they could go back, high into the sky? Away from it all once more?
{[]}