I want to go home. I’ve been here three weeks already. Twenty one solar days. 30,240 minutes. My work must be finished, surely.
I’m tired of being different, alien. I yearn to make that call, bring my ride back. Soon.
A youngling is close by. He pulls off the leaves covering me, hiding me. I understand his speech, as I’ve understood the older ones I have observed. He pokes at me. “Hello. My name is Elliott.”
I sigh. Right, that’s it. I’m bloody phoning home.