I rub the stone between my fingers. Now dull and grey, like any other pebble from my backyard, it’s all I have left of you. And once again, like every minute of every day, I think of when it all went wrong. 

Wars were raging, temperatures rising, millions of species going extinct. And then, you came; in a real spaceship, out of thin air. 

The day I was chosen was the best of my life. I was one of ten international experts selected to go onto your ship and initiate contact, but all our endless years of studying turned out to be unnecessary: you were prepared. What a reception we got! You presented us with shiny helmets that would instantly translate your deep, rumbling noises into human languages. You didn’t seem to have any trouble understanding us.

Yes, you were strange, a bit unnerving at the beginning. Sometimes, you looked barely alive, your movements imperceptible, like the slow shift of tectonic plates.  But you were also beautiful, fractals unfurling in impossible hues, those three immense eyes like swirling galaxies. 

The miracles were endless: iridescent creatures floating in the air, doors that opened to a thousand worlds, trees dancing in the light of four blue suns. The cure for cancer, reversing climate change, interstellar travel, you would give us all. The night you showed us the stars, we understood that we had been playing with toys. We couldn’t stop talking, our voices overlapping, excited children on a never-ending Christmas morning. The physicists among us soon gave up trying to make sense of anything. We must have seemed stupid, but with lives spanning thousands of years, the virtue you didn’t lack was patience. All that would be ours. All we would do together, with your ancient wisdom and our ingenuity. That’s what you said. That’s what I wanted to believe.

And then, one morning, while you were watching Shrek with the Chinese delegation, I slipped into the room where you had never invited us in, and it was all full of tiny humming stones, so bright, so beautiful, they made my eyes water. Come on, I thought, this is no forbidden fruit. You had thousands of those tiny stones; you would never know. 

The next day, it was over. You woke us up, you told us you were dropping us home and everything was already packed, and before we could open our mouths, we were on the ground again, and as the doors closed, I couldn’t read your petrous faces. You didn’t even look back. Or maybe you did; I was never sure about the protuberances behind your head; maybe they were eyes.

Was this it? This absurd little stone? You never told us not to touch it; how could I have known? Duplicitous bastards, you never said it was a test.

I keep going over everything that happened, every conversation, every interaction. That cursed week. Maybe it wasn’t me. Was it something the Finnish guy said? He was too eager. Maybe we shouldn’t have shown you Shrek. But deep inside, I know.

Humanity keeps trying, and our messages grow more desperate. Please give us another chance. Is there another planet? Is there a better species? What have they given you that we couldn’t? How could you do this to us? Why would you take away our future?

Above, the sky is taunting me. I used to look up with hope. Now there’s just anger. The stars are stones sealing our prison.

I pray every night; I try to reach you with my thoughts; I implore you to come back, come back, come back. We can’t do this on our own. Come back, come back, come back. 

This stupid rock, it’s not even pretty anymore. I flick it into the street and go drink a beer.