A Kind Of Homecoming

There’s still time before the shuttle leaves, and so I decide to take a walk outside and say my final goodbyes to Hesperia. Two years I’ve been here, working out at the other side of the galaxy, and even though I’m going back for good in a few hours, Earth seems further away than ever. I know I’ll never pass for a Hesperian, but this place is home to me in a way Earth never was.
I put my bag down on the ground at my feet and lean against one of the wiry dendron trees. When I look up at that purple sky and its weak orange sun I marvel once again at how everything that seemed so strange two years ago seems so natural today. As if to prove the point, one of the skyrays passes far overhead, its gigantic rubbery wings lazily pushing it through the air. I remember the first time I saw one I stood and stared until it was a tiny dot on the horizon. These days, they’re just part of the scenery, and I barely notice them. Not this one though. I watch it navigate the invisible currents of the wind and try to stamp every moment of its passage on my mind, willing myself to remember it.
The cheap, colony built tannoy splutters into life and announces that the shuttle will be departing soon and that all passengers must now head to Emigration. I look back through the glass door and come to a decision. I pick up my bag, pat off the red dust, heft it over my shoulder and walk away from the terminal building, heading out for the horizon.

This entry was posted in Travel, Writing (Fiction) and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to A Kind Of Homecoming

  1. Great Southern Steve says:

    Obviously I have a lot to learn about JAPAN.

  2. OH NO you have seen through my facile metaphor!

    I wrote it just before we left and when I was trawling my hard drive for something to post, I came back to this, on the grounds that it was short.

  3. Great Southern Steve says:

    You really didn’t want to leave that place did ya?

    I have to say, I was sick to fucking death of the Solomons when we left there.

    My own “Goodbye to Melaspia” would contain steady drinking of liquor imported from Earth, and awkward goodbyes with aliens I never really liked and whose customs I never really respected.

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