Author: David Henson

As I take in the barren, alien landscape in orange and tan, I notice someone at the top of a steep rise not far away. I shout for help, wave one of the crutches I’ve fashioned from a landing strut. The figure disappears over the hill. I struggle back inside my wreck of a ship.
The next day the figure reappears, approaches. A female. Similar overall body proportions to mine, but eyes a bit large, nose elongated, lips thin. We stare at each other. I need help, I say, touch my stomach and mouth, motion toward my crushed leg. Come closer. Can you help me? As I speak, I raise my voice, and she lifts her arm to her eyes. She says something I can’t understand, leaves.

***

I lean against a boulder, watch the rise. Here she comes. Help me, I say softly and nod at my leg. When she starts to reach toward it, I brace myself, but she draws back. I touch the rock. Sit by me, I whisper. She leaves.

***

I don’t bother going back inside the ship anymore. There’s nothing left, and the stench is overwhelming.

***

Are there others? Where are you from? I sweep my hand around the horizon. She points toward the sky, stomps her foot. How do you survive? I point to my mouth. She touches hers then holds up something small and blue. I grab at her hand, but she pulls it away and drops the morsel. I pick it up and start to take a bite, but she snatches it away. Why did you bring it then? I shout. She averts her eyes, points to the sky and leaves.

***

Watching me sleep, she sings, and streaks of maroon appear in the dark sky. The next morning I can’t be sure it was a dream.

***

She brings a morsel again. Pure white. She tosses it at my feet. I can’t reach it, I lie, motion for her to hand it to me. When she doesn’t, I pick it up before she can slap it away. It’s bitter, juicy. I feel stronger immediately. Do you have more? She turns and retreats back up the rise. At the top, she faces me and holds out her arms, palms down, up, toward me. Does it mean she’ll be back? Goodbye? I balance myself on my crutches and mimic her gestures best I can.

***

I have the impression of sunrise, warmth on my face. I open my eyes. She’s back and holding out another white morsel. I eat it immediately. Come closer, I whisper. She leans forward. I muster all my strength, reach up and pull her to me. Finally.

***

I look down at her, at my broken body. She stares up at me and screams — her cries, flashes that hurt my eyes.
I turn and head up the rise, savoring the strength of her legs. Then I become aware of music all around. The turquoise of the sky sounds like a soft whistle while the tan underfoot strums a deeper tone. I hear every color in harmony. A soft breeze tastes sweet. I stop and look back at her in wonder.
She’s struggled to her feet, but, with the crushed leg, can’t manage the hill any more than I could. A pang of guilt feels like flames crackling on my shoulders. She shakes a crutch at me. It was you or me, I shout, my words bright red. You or me. I resume the climb. The fiery pain subsides, but a sickening smell of burnt flesh remains. I’ll have to learn to live with it.