Good Evening, and welcome to Hodomania by Benjamin Simpson. The story this evening, is from the On Exoplanet series, a science fiction travel story.
I built a time machine out of rubber bands and hope. Now, in the future, I travel the exoplanets writing and photographing uninteresting moments. It helps keep the sanity at bay.
I call this:
Organic.
That’s the first word that comes to mind.
Humans tend to build in straight lines, straight roads, straight walls, straight glass.
But everything here flows. Like a tree flows into roots, like matter flows into a black hole, like a hill flows into a valley.
It’s so beautiful, everything is gentle.
I wish I could describe it other than comparing it to earth, but that is my, our, frame of reference.
The roofs flow upward. No, that’s not the right description, the roofs are part of the green tendril walls, they just continue and bend inward. There’s no distinct change, there’s no guttering. It just flows, like water over a fall.
The streets are not square, they curve and bend and twist. With intersections that make no sense. It feels like it should be a mess, but it’s not. But I still follow locals when they cross. Just to be sure.
There are a million Volfluer’s living in this city. It’s not the biggest city, but definitely in the top 30 for this planet.
As I walk up the street, I am noticed, but not obviously, subtle glances. There are a few small one’s who stop and gawk, but seeing humans is unusual, not strange.
The smell is earthy, (there I go, using that earth word again) and normal, well normal for a forest, not normal for a city. But at the same time there’s something subtle, floating underneath that makes it strange. I couldn’t then, and I still can’t, describe it. It’s like that feeling when you first get sick, it feels like everything is normal, but just twisted sideways.
This is what we call Exoplanet 27359. And the Volfluers call home.
And I walk, because walking is good. I walk through, around, down and up the streets. Wandering in random directions. Following whims and hunches and feelings.
Eventually I come across a market.
The market is so similar to earth, a rounded roof the size of a football pitch, and no walls, just arches all the way round. Again, that feeling that everything is normal, just twisted a little. The arches are green and made from thick green vine twisted naturally together. It feels smooth like bamboo.
This must be market day, or every day is market day, because there is a multitude. First there is blue food. It’s noticeable because it’s strange. Thee are other colours as well, greens and reds and pinks, but most of it is blue.
There are two smaller Volfluers staring at a table of toys. Not wooden toys, but of green vine made into vehicles, animals, buildings. There are almost no wheels, but lots of sleds and wings.
I walk down a flowing aisle, happily jostled like I’m not a stranger.
The food and toys and clothes and household good comes to an end. Now there are tables and chairs, food and talk.
I pause next to a column, watching the movement and colours and interactions and gestures and expressions. Someone shyly approaches. They look between age, not a child and not an adult.
They awkwardly say hello, with the double L’s coming out like a whirr.
I say hello back and smile.
They’re nervous, trying to find something to say.
‘You enjoy’ they say.
I can sense some of the locals at the tables watching us.
Not out of worry, but just out of curiosity. Maybe wondering if this one will embarrass them, making sure they do nothing stupid. Or maybe it’s just an excuse to watch the foreigner. Their subtle glances and their paused conversations feel comfortable.
I smile and nod and say ‘yes, I’m really enjoying, it’s beautiful.’
They say, ‘where now from.’
I answer, ‘Earth, England.’
They make a sort of swinging motion with one of their arms, which I have been told is a good motion, an agreement, a calming motion.
‘I go one day’
‘yes, it’s beautiful too.’
I make the same sort of swinging motion with my arm that they made, and they seem to relax.
I say ‘where are you from?’
After a pause they says something, which I assume is a name, but I couldn’t understand, couldn’t put letters to the word.
‘why here’ they ask.
‘just to see, just to know, to visit.’
They seem to accept this, but maybe not understand, and then they ask,
‘you single’
And that could be a scary, but I know it’s not, not with their body language and this place.
‘just me, I’m alone.’
And they pause for a moment, trying to think of something else to say.
So I jump in with a little laugh, ‘just me, all alone, in this city,’ and with another laugh, ‘on this planet,’ and a big smile ‘in this solar system.’
And suddenly I feel free and light and wonderful.
There is no one who knows me, no boss to tell me what to do, away from my culture, no thousand little things to worry about, no one that I must adjust myself and think about what I am about to say. No one who really knows my language. I don’t have to worry about what clothes I wear, where I stand, because mistakes are acceptable.
Just walking and watching, filling my head, with nothing else intruding.
I smile, and say ‘it’s good to be alone, wandering alone.’
Their body language says they don’t understand.
Which makes me worry that I’ve said the wrong thing, or that I’m misreading their body language.
I smile, and give them a little bow and swing my arm.
At this, I turn away, hoping that it’s not too rude, and walk between the tables and step out from under the covering.
It’s raining, it rains a lot here, it flows over and around.
I turn my head up to the rain, and with a huge smile on my face, and eyes watching, walk down the street.