The Immigrants
Our arrival on the planet proceeded without a glitch.
It was a Tuesday, the sky recently washed. Night was loading. Our arrival on the planet proceeded without a glitch. We were led to our beds, they were coated with the smell of past occupants. I covered the bed with my scarf. You know how wary I am of other species’ bacterial debris. He lay across from me, his lips knitting sounds.
After the light switched off, my face began to glisten, sprouted moist scales, His fingers came searching, soft then angry, picking at my raised skin. His hand explained nothing, it retreated, sated, back to his arm. Between us the floor glinted with fresh scabs. I got up and slapped him. His lips locked and I listened to his screaming head. Words gushed into his eyes, both cheeks bulged. I expected him to throw up.
My body swelled, lit from within so that I glowed brighter than multiple moons. He paid no attention, but the immigrant next to us did. She twisted her neck to see, looked me up and down. I bared my teeth in a smile and waited for a coo of approval. She thrust out her tongue, went back to her pile of discarded toes. This made him weep. He lamented my behavior, lectured me on not pestering humans, demanded humility.
He talked endlessly, so long I went slack and died.