I arrived back in the dwelling and searched for the proper device project the music off of these thick, black disks. Katherine’s space was no good, there was nothing within it that the disks would fit into. I remembered the room with the various equipment that hummed when I approached it.
In the humming room there was a table of sorts, and a rise in the middle. It fit the hole of the disk perfectly. A glowing arm of sorts positioned itself on top of the disk. I took a step back. The disk began to spin, and the arm seemed to project sound off of it.
“Is this the real life… Is this just fantasy…” Five human voices sang off the disk. They sang together in some sort of unity that I could not quite explain. I had heard the music of your Romeo and Juliet, but this was entirely different, yet incredibly the same. We had music on my planet too, yet it was very logical, straightforward, and mechanical. There was something about this that was so illogical. Your music transformed into a separate language of its own. No, a separate being of its own, with a life of its own. I had read that many of your species believe that a supreme being created your kind out of itself. It gave you breath, but also the ability to breathe on your own. Music must be your answer to this, your creation that could live its own life.
I played disk after disk, ignoring the hum that your equipment sent through my body. I listened to your many diverse and united voices, the harmonious emotions that you all create. You humans are creators, you are communicators. Music was your creation, a way of communicating through your sound and your words in infinite combinations.
I have seen the ways you connect, the characters you create, the destruction you dole out, the love that you carry and the hate that you hold. All of these are written in the songs of your many people. You humans are this odd mix between individuals and communities. Lovers and haters. Fighters and builders. But ultimately, none of you are one thing, and none of you are the same alone as you are with other humans. Ultimately, you are creators, and you are communicators. I understand destruction, but you need not destroy. That is not what you are. You humans are something not to be understood, often abstract and illogical in your ideas of creation and love and communication. That is what you need to be.
If there is anything I can tell you about the humans, it is that I can tell you everything about the humans. At the same time, I can tell you nothing about the humans. I understand that they are not to be understood. That is what makes them beautiful, that is what has kept me on this sphere for so long. I am an observer, and they are a subject that can be infinitely observed, each one and as a whole.
I realized after a while that your music was not just playing for me. I saw it, in the form of a stream of information, cast through the tower and out into the sky. I had studied these streams, but this was the first time I had contributed one, the first time I had created one. I considered taking out the disks, but then I figured that perhaps your kind needed to hear this music.
I went back to Karen’s office as the music resounded. There was a message posted by Karen.
“Regular Programming is no longer playing at Last Stand… I can hear you survivors! Don’t worry. I’ll be home very soon. Stay tuned. I’m coming.”
By ROBERT COCANOUGHER / Literature Columnist