The Station, Part 56

Where am I now? I’m standing in a field of tall green grass. To one side I see a grove of what look like banana trees. It’s hot and humid—a tropical perhaps. But who knows, as this is but a dream. I’m still huddled within my impromptu igloo, miraculously constructed out of my own huge hands. Here, in the dream, I see myself as I once was. I wear clothes, my bare arms devoid of the white four. And four fingers and a thumbs on each hand. My sandaled feet reveal all ten toes. It all feels strange. This is what it feels like to be alien.

I hear voices, human voices, coming from the grove. I take it I am to investigate. And what else is there to do? As I approach, the voices grow louder, more distinct. I can distinguish two voices—one of a male quality I believe; the other one female. The leaves of banana trees obstruct my view so I push them aside. There is a small clearing. In the middle sit three people. A man, a woman and one very small child I imagine. They are so odd in appearance. Strange clothing, with patterns not found in nature. I see that without these cloths they have no protection other than their own thin soft skin. No fur or scales to protect them. Their exposed flesh is vulnerable. The only real natural protection they seem to have is the mass of hair on the top of their heads. With the exception of the adult male; his lower face is covered in a thin layer of hair. They seem so helpless and exposed out here. Yet confoundedly, they seem to be blissfully unaware of any danger to them. The name for these being is human. I know. I was once among them. But now, as oddly familiar as these three particular individuals may be, especially the very small one, they belong more to the myriad of life that we—it—they harbor than I belong to them. Perhaps I am assuming too much. I must remind myself that this is a dream—a sleep lesson perhaps. That has yet to be clarified.

They adults are eating and paying very close attention to the small one. It must be their offspring. An even more helpless looking thing. The limbs appear too short for adequate walking, running or climbing. And when it does move, the motions are clumsy, unsure. It must be entirely dependent on its parents for sustenance and protection. An indication of intelligence. I suspect I won’t be present to study them for much longer, I see that this odd species may be worthy of saving. If it meets the criteria. That sad, unfortunate criteria. But in order to be saved, they must first be doomed.

But now the creatures, the trees, the grass—it’s all gone. Will I not learn more about these beings? I have lived and communed among so many others. Why pull me away from this? There was an opportunity lost. An opportunity to learn who and what these being are…or were.