We are singular but vast.

They are numerous but small.

Our three suns have accompanied us to this obscure world. They shine darkly in a streaky grey sky.

At first, the creatures appear to be polished agate; a disguise perhaps. Closer inspection indicates their true organic nature; the bizarre biomorphic contours of their outer skin periodically pulses a deep orange colour as they struggle slowly through their thick atmosphere.

We glide through the grey sheets of their morbid sky, absorbing the sounds of their visual spectrum. Their colours represent their melancholy, their disparate aspirations, their doomed hopes and delusions. Their combined sound is now a flickering green-mottled obsidian.

In a soundscape of photonic glory, we drift amongst the thoughts of these strange creatures. Their colours crackle interminably in our ears, but these eerie neural computations are mere fluctuations in the fantastical landscape of their inner world.

For these creatures, the universe is an infinite and terrifying panopticon, a flickering and eternal palette of fear. We attempt to reassure them, but are met with an intense barrage of colours that we have never encountered before and are unable to translate.

Reluctantly summoning our three suns, we cast an immense veil over their world.

As an infinite kindness leaks from our heart, we smother them all with an overwhelming sense of regret.

Their collective scream follows us into orbit.

Its sound is red.

…


Dan McNeil is a writer and artist from the UK.  His work has appeared in numerous places, including Alienist Manifesto, Antipodean SF, Bewildering Stories, Fugitives & Futurists, Full House Literary, Hyper-Annotation #001, Interzone Digital, Misery Tourism, Plutonics Journal (vol. XV) and Sein und Werden. 

His website is dan-mcneil.com