Dreamer
The aliens landed. They were peaceful. They gave us the keys to the car, so to speak, and we were accepted into a Mount Olympus of old races as varied as they were bizarre. That was six decades ago.
Most of the young humans left. They went on vacation aboard the completely free interstellar subway that now connected us to the rest this galaxy, three upper dimensions and a few far-away nebulae as well. Relativistic time constraints being what they are, the walkabouts won’t be coming back anytime soon according to the time-frame of those they left behind. Entire families left together.
Humans dot all the planets, tending bar and doing grunt work in order to afford a couple of days gazing at the hard-to-reach wonders that make anything on Earth look like a tacky tourist attraction. We are the ubiquitous tourists of the universe. We hold maps, squint at signs, adjust whatever life-giving equipment we’re wearing in whatever atmosphere we’re in, and make plans for the day. Most of us are embarrassed about where we come from and are polite to a fault.
Abroad, we’re well-liked.
Technology greater than ours crept across the borders until the entire Earth became docking bays, repair shops, and bars. Earth is a backwater truck stop now. A hub and nothing else. The oceans are covered. Almost all of the nature had been taken but the factories and entertainment centers that are left are non-polluting.
Beloved Terra is no longer. The home of the galaxy’s most enthusiastic transients has become a waystation. It is only a destination for the bored with some time to kill.
My dad owns a junkyard.
I’m perching on the outer rim of a broken flying saucer and looking up at the sky. The light from the surrounding endless city has forever masked out the stars but I know they’re there.
I’m wearing greasy coveralls and wondering what it would be like. My dad says that most of the aliens come here so what’s the point of going out there? I can’t explain that the most high-definition surround immersion doesn’t compare to being there.
Of course, I’m just guessing. I’ve never been anywhere.
I finger the giant wrench I’ve got in my hands and dream of catching a flight somewhere.
tags
Most of the young humans left. They went on vacation aboard the completely free interstellar subway that now connected us to the rest this galaxy, three upper dimensions and a few far-away nebulae as well. Relativistic time constraints being what they are, the walkabouts won’t be coming back anytime soon according to the time-frame of those they left behind. Entire families left together.
Humans dot all the planets, tending bar and doing grunt work in order to afford a couple of days gazing at the hard-to-reach wonders that make anything on Earth look like a tacky tourist attraction. We are the ubiquitous tourists of the universe. We hold maps, squint at signs, adjust whatever life-giving equipment we’re wearing in whatever atmosphere we’re in, and make plans for the day. Most of us are embarrassed about where we come from and are polite to a fault.
Abroad, we’re well-liked.
Technology greater than ours crept across the borders until the entire Earth became docking bays, repair shops, and bars. Earth is a backwater truck stop now. A hub and nothing else. The oceans are covered. Almost all of the nature had been taken but the factories and entertainment centers that are left are non-polluting.
Beloved Terra is no longer. The home of the galaxy’s most enthusiastic transients has become a waystation. It is only a destination for the bored with some time to kill.
My dad owns a junkyard.
I’m perching on the outer rim of a broken flying saucer and looking up at the sky. The light from the surrounding endless city has forever masked out the stars but I know they’re there.
I’m wearing greasy coveralls and wondering what it would be like. My dad says that most of the aliens come here so what’s the point of going out there? I can’t explain that the most high-definition surround immersion doesn’t compare to being there.
Of course, I’m just guessing. I’ve never been anywhere.
I finger the giant wrench I’ve got in my hands and dream of catching a flight somewhere.
tags