Floating, flying, dancing through the air as we usually do, we orbit our moon. We shoot out to the limits of gravity’s reach and squeal with excitement as we get pulled back into her cool embrace. We do this constantly, always moving. Moving is how we obtain our knowledge. Sounds and actions, thoughts and colors from all over the universe bounce by at lightning speed. If we move quickly, we can see them.

This is how we learned that the humans are coming.

Any day now, they will be here. We can see the rocket – large and white – leaving fire in its wake. There is a possibility that the flames will harm some of us. We are prepared for this and will be cautious when they arrive. The humans are disturbingly large organisms, though not as large as the rocket. We wonder what they will think of us.

After weeks and weeks of waiting, the ship arrives. We feel the disturbance in our atmosphere. We are sucked toward the center of our moon, pulled by the powerful vacuum created by the rocket. We feel the heat, but manage to steer clear of any danger. The spaceship is even more monstrous than we thought. As it lands and powers down, we circle the giant machine. Their technology is wonderful! The exact measurements in both the temperature of the fire and the shape of the vessel show how deliberately they planned. Oh what the humans can invent! They are surely one of the more advanced species we’ve seen in several millennia.

We gather in front of their ship, waiting for them to emerge. We listen to their conversation; they are waiting for the computer to finish looking for life forms, so that they are not caught by surprise as they exit their ship. Hopefully they will realize that we are friendly.

“There’s no sign of life out there. Looks like we’re alone.”

That can’t be right. How can their machines not sense us? We will have to tell them that their equipment is flawed.

Slowly, the door opens. Out walks a gargantuan human, made even bigger by his astronautical suit. Glancing around, he looks right through us. We are everywhere, yet we do not even register in his vision. Maybe these humans are not as advanced as we thought. We try congregating in his line of sight and hovering around their life-sensing machine, but nothing works. We put all our weight on the buttons of their equipment. They do not detect us.

They stay for several days and we learn wonders about their world, but we cannot share what we know about so many other worlds. We cannot tell them our own story – our moon’s history – about which they are so curious but could not even begin to imagine. These humans are a puzzle. Parts of their brains are very developed, as shown by their ability to travel here. But vital parts of their minds seem unused, hidden from themselves. They leave without knowing that they have been observed this whole time, disappointed by the lack of life on the beautiful grey organism that they see as a rock.

We wish we could help them, but we have tried everything. So, we continue zipping about our moon, enjoying the lightness that returns with the departure of the vacuum-spaceship. The next visitors will be able to communicate with us. No other species has ever had this problem. We keep track of the humans though, to see if we can determine where their flaw lies. Someday, we may be able to overcome this barrier.

Posted on January 8, 2013, in short story, Writing and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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