Alien

The day was warm, with a warm breeze that made the trees shiver or sway. Beneath a young willow at the end of his garden, Jamie squatted with his friend Trev. They were totally absorbed in a deep and excited conversation and did not notice the alien as it approached across the lawn.

It stopped some way off to observe them. It noted their smallness, their rapid, energetic movements, their rapt, intense expressions. It contrasted all this to its own sluggish lethargy, the way it stared, with barely a flicker of emotion, as its thoughts churned turgidly. It noted the abundance of life in the small humans and felt a feeble stirring echo in its own breast. The promise of renewal drew it closer, the difficulties of contact made it hold back.

Jamie and Trev began to jostle each other. Their slim, tough limbs tangled. They pushed and grabbed. Their naked arms touched. They giggled and laughed. The alien marvelled at the casual way they let their bodies move one against the other - the only significance of the contact being in the chance to push or pull. It made the alien feel ... something. A loss, perhaps, a vague, racial memory that reached back into the dim, ancient vaults of evolutionary time. Was that what it felt?

This world was a minefield of strange emotions. As it wandered through the places that people lived and worked, as it visited the lonely, natural places, the alien was often surprised by a feeling. It sometimes felt as though a person or a thing might touch it. A sight, a rolling, desert moorland, a wide, wild seascape, would dredge something from deep within it, stir the silt that had been settling for so many ages. And, if it ever dared approach a human, dared to speak to one, they would shy away in fear or repulsion, draw into themselves and leave it in that awful, empty isolation that was its only life.

How long ago its own childhood had been! Its mind reached back for the few fragments of memory that it had not expunged and found nothing but meaningless, disconnected incidents, disturbing in their shallowness. Had it thought nothing then? Had it, even in its springtime, been without feeling? A grub? A pupa? Perhaps that was it. Perhaps it had always been like this. Perhaps this sense of life seeping slowly through cracks was only an illusion and the reality was ... what?

It looked again at the little boys. Their tussle had ceased and they wer lying, side by side, on their bellies, poking at the ground with short sticks, watching something - an insect perhaps - on the ground in front of them. The sheer intensity of their preoccupation drew the alien closer, like a moth to a bright light. It felt the strength of their being wash over it like the heat from a fire. These human children were so involved! Their lives were so focused on this moment! The alien yearned, in its slow, dull way, to feel for itself some of that vital energy.

Closer it came and still closer, moving slowly and quietly across the lawn, looking neither left nor right but only at the little boys under the tree. Finally, it dare not come any closer. It was just a few metres away. If either boy turned his head slightly they would see the alien and it would all be over. It was time to turn and go. Yet it needed this contact, no matter how disastrous. It had to try yet again.

Steeling itself for the ordeal, it moved forward a little further. "Hello," it said.

The two boys acted in perfect unison, with startling speed. Their heads flicked round to face the alien, their eyes widened and their mouths dropped open. Then they scrabbled to their feet and stood, side-by-side, staring at the huge creature before them.

The alien flinched at the anxiety in their eyes. The readiness of their young legs to flee pained it. Why had it bothered? Why had it not kept quiet and settled for watching them? Why was it always wanting more?

Neither of the boys spoke and the silence became tense and protracted. "You were so absorbed in your game, you didn't even see me coming," the alien said. Large, alert eyes stared back at it in silence. "They want to run away," it thought and the thought defeated it. The hopelessness of the situation suddenly overwhelmed it. What was it doing here? What was the point of trying to communicate? Between them and it was a gulf wider than the Galaxy.

"I ... er ... must be going," it said, feebly, avoiding their eyes. "Lots to do." It backed away. "'Bye," it said and turned and moved away as quickly as its great bulk would allow.

Trev and Jamie watched its retreat and then looked at each other. "Who was that?" Trev asked.

"Oh, just my Dad," said Jamie, watching the disappearing figure.

"Oh," said Trev and got down to find where the millipede had got to.

Jamie watched his father enter the house and familiar emotions stirred in him. He had thought for a wild moment that his Dad had come to ... But that was silly. Grown-ups weren't like that. "Lots to do," he thought bitterly and, seeing Trev playing with that stupid millipede, stamped on it with all his might.