Her lips, her touch; I awoke without them, alone in space. Her voice on repeat:
"They boarded without warning. Come find me when you can."

A boy in a tree swung his legs. He'd be beaten if caught, but second moonrise was his favourite time of night. He waved as I left orbit.

They once said we were playing God. But our goal was to find Him. Maybe we lost our way. I knew I'd lost my way when I heard the fuel alarm.

We meant to land where they couldn't follow; meet, then make our way. But gravity had other plans. Just as well. I was running out of air.

Sun set over the badlands. Would the mountains tolerate beings from outer space? Of course not. They're just rocks. I crashed down anyway.

The pod exploded. My rations, my hope of leaving, up in flames. But I saved the seeds. And the specimen. It slept soundly in its jar.

I gazed into the abyss. It gazed into me. Blinked all ten of its eyes.
No problem. I'll find somewhere else to sleep.

I headed to the horizon, grinding salt beneath my feet. On a world far away, a man once walked on water. Now I walked where water once ran.

We danced through the night, the stars and I. The stars, the psychoactive desert cactus, and the specimen jar that cracked in my hands.

The specimen levitated. Polished eyes gleamed with starlight. It looked at me and sang. A song of old. A song that commanded: "Run."

At night, I heard it feed. Sticks and sand crushed by teeth and gears. By morning, it was bigger, more eager to catch me. We'd run again.

The forest. Where stone grew like trees and blocked out the light. Where the dirt smelled like blood and death. Maybe I'd be safe in there.

I slowed and looked skyward, thought of life and death beneath indifferent stars. But she still waited out there. I had get off this planet.

Morning broke to birdsong. I traced its source: an ancient tree. It turned to me and said, "You're not from around here, are you?"

"You can talk?"
"Yes," the tree replied. "All trees can talk."
"The trees on my planet can't."
"Perhaps they had nothing to say to you.

🌲 
”A forest on the mountain asks a meeting."
"You mean,” I joked, “it wood like to see me?"
The tree was silent. I guess it didn't twig.