Alien

I’m new in this city, but I’ve already noticed it’s safe enough to walk through the streets after my late shifts. Or at least, safer than the place I grew up in. It’s easy to spot others like me. People that come from a land where conflict and insecurity haunt our dreams, our life. In automatic you turn your head slightly to either side. You’re not looking back, you just let the corner of your eye have an idea of who’s walking behind you. It’s an ongoing survival instinct that certain people develop over years of fear. That’s how I identify other outlanders like me. That’s how I encountered that alien so like myself.

“Humanoid, spare some assistance. I command.” I’ve heard people calling each other, ‘mate’, ‘lad’, ‘sweetie’, but ‘humanoid’ was new. I guess that’s another way to call someone in a friendly manner. I took out a pound coin from my pocket and handed it over.

“That minuscule earth metal would not fuel my saucer.” My English has improved, yet I didn’t understand a thing I’d been told but I nodded with a smile; that’s what the locals do. I thought the stranger would take the coin I offered, instead it held my hand and leaned on my shoulder.

“Assist me with crossing this road, I’ll be transported there.” This body felt cold, as if I was dragging an ice sculpture about to melt. 

“Sure, Trafalgar Square. It’s a good place to be collected by a taxi.” I was friendly. “Where are you from?”

“Light years from here.” The individual spoke to me and looked as if each word was stuck somewhere between the throat and tongue.

“My village is also far away,” I continued. “Listen my friend, you’re kinda blue and you’re too cold. Do you want me to call an ambulance? I think you need some help.”

“Help is coming.” The sentence came out high-pitched and gave me goosebumps. 

We reached the right side fountain and I sat down on the edge. I slipped my fingers in the water and the coolness numbed my bones. I saw exhaustion in my reflection – that’s when I heard a humming noise, like the one my fridge does in the middle of the night which wakes me up. I looked up and saw what I thought was a big plate-shaped mirror. I checked if anyone else was seeing this but the mirror was reflecting the surroundings. I guessed if a passerby looked my way, they would see their own reflection instead of a closed National Gallery.

“Farewell, humanoid.” I saw a smirk on that face. A gust of wind came right at us and the torn clothes this stranger used flew away across the square. The sweatshirt landed on my feet. I was alone once again at 3 a.m.

“Farewell, my friend.”