If water’s temperature is as close to internal body temperature as possible and that water’s salinity is sufficient, sometimes currents feel just like wind. But how do we process what came as a phantom rather than an experience?
. . .
1. Unknown Galaxy, Planet Sceadroom:
While my comrades and I sleep for at least 72 hours at a time, I don’t think I’m wasting anything by sleeping so much. I’ve got the potential to live for as long as I like, so intense bouts of sleeping don’t leave any moral stains on my heart. It’s been a few days now since I’ve even seen another, and I yearn to connect and share. But, to be honest, I’m struggling with how much I’d like to share lately. I know that I’m not obligated to share anything at all, but I don’t want my skin to do all of the communicating for me.
Maybe now is a good a time as any to cover my skin completely, at least in this state. My depression often takes over me wholly and I don’t have the energy to interact with others. I don’t want people to see how I am expressing myself physically on bad days, and I certainly won’t be sharing any memories with anyone in a bad state of mind.
If I cover my skin, I might be able to reach the surface undetected to get some sunlight and be alone.
. . .
The Droomian swam quickly to the near-boiling surface waters to find peace away from others, yet they did not realize that covering their skin completely would focus all of their natural light energy through their eyes. What seemed like a blinding from the harsh suns was their cerebral data escaping their eyes and bursting through the atmosphere like a meteor defying gravitational pull.
2. Earth, 123,005 B.C.:
We were scouting for tilling ground, using the mineral detectors, and something overwhelmed us. Our eyes were fixed on a tall plant still as stone when a warm breeze ruffled our garments.
“Is it dead?”
“The plant is as green as any We’ve seen; how do We mean?” We offered in reply.
“Did We not just feel that gust?”
“Wouldn’t We have noticed? The leaves would have moved at least.” We scoffed.
“We don’t have to be so dismissive. But, anyway, We need to finish this survey before dusk.”
All night We dreamt of breezes that felt just like the one We thought We remembered from the early evening. Although, the gusts were increasingly salty in smell. Color was changing around us as We glided through the sky above the hilltops and with each passing breeze a new set of complex colors was injected into our lungs.
We flew about the sky and pierced the clouds. The air in this dream wasn’t all the same, though. Not all of the sensations were warm, and not all of them offered us a color palette to experience. Our primary activity has been collection and analysis of light wave data, so how could We not be expected to understand that each gust of wind’s colors was, well, incomplete? The patterns seemed to be too basic, as if there were pieces of one puzzle floating around the sky aimlessly. If these dreams were our memories—they can’t be; the closest salt lick is hundreds of miles from here.
. . .
“We” will never comprehend the dream-like sensations their equipment intercepted. Hiveminds can’t feel and see difference of bodies like the creatures of the planet Sceadroom. Immortality would destroy the brains of mortals and the implications of timelessness is foreign to an isolated group that knows nothing other than their collective mind.
Consider the wind currents that brought color patterns with them: this sensation was a memory of a Droomian’s life. Immortality necessitates that individuals differentiate themselves, so they’ve evolved to share memories telepathically in order to reveal their identity and gender. This manifests physically as bioluminescence that changes, a unique gender expression that’s liberated from constraint.
That curious Droomian swam to the hot surface, in turn emitting radio waves of their consciousness that fell on Earth.
. . .
“Wake up!” We’re sweating profusely! Why do We feel so hot in freezing winter?”
“The colors have all gone except for one palette, what could that mean?” We answered.
“These colors are changing so rapidly, in some kind of succession or pattern. They’re hot, scalding. Maybe …”
“Let’s get underground before We overhe—”
“We can’t breathe?!”
We choked for oxygen as our lungs filled with salt water on a dry winter’s night. We’re sending this message to any interceptors …
. . .
The only memories sent to Earth were from before the creature surfaced. The last thing the humans knew was that Sceadroom was a sea planet with scorching suns.
3. Sceadroom, Earth Year 2345 A.D.:
Living for so long without death, I never expected to hear that I, or who I identified as so long ago, would have been indirectly responsible for the death and suffering of some alien creature far, far away from the sea. When we received data that followed the exact path of my own telepathic radio signal back to the sea, I never expected to learn of “We.” Could we Droomians have lived for so long without anyone attempting to cover our luminescence? Surely there are memories lost. The information that was sent in such an unorthodox way was never meant for others.
I don’t think we have been trying to be as careful as possible with where our memories end up because we think others lack the capacity to interpret them or the cultural similarities. We’ve altered our behavior rather because, after my mistake so many years ago, we did not want to share ourselves without proper context. Certainly, that is why the agency we hold to share as little or as much information about ourselves so effortlessly has catalyzed our society’s aim of being as horizontal and autonomous as possible.
I often ponder: did that “We” perish from the sensation of drowning, or was the utter difference of my memory too shocking to bare?
