PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson
When we first arrived, we’d learned how to blend. The mobile hairless ones appeared to be the leaders of this carbon-hydrogen-nitrogen-oxygen-sulphur-phosphorus-based planet; and they had little regard for any but their own kind, no tolerance at all for anything different, and outright hostility towards anything or anyone that challenged their leadership.
We slipped into the pile of burlap-sacked saplings during a group-shared locale renovation and mimicked the sycamore. Warm season reminded us of home. When their sun turned away though, we suffered. While the hairless ones slept, we reached out to the sun’s tiny replicas, warmed ourselves – and waited.
Yes, this is probably the longest hyphenated word I’ve ever used.
Rochelle Wisoff-Fields is the lively host of Friday Fictioneers.