Postcards: We Shan’t Return

Image of an Airstream trailer with kludgy wings and parachutes, atop a metal structure between industrial buildings.
Dear Dale, I only hoped to achieve flight. Could sails carry my little lead balloon across the continent, over an ocean, drifting on the wind? I accelerated over a mountain ledge, and my stomach dropped. I was going to plummet to infamy rather than soaring to fame. But something happened, something I hadn’t calculated. I rocketed up, into space! The blue marble dropped away, shrinking to nothing. I got scared—this tin can wasn’t sealed against the vacuum of space. I held my breath and squeezed my eyes shut. When I opened them, the sky outside was as blue as Earth’s. I’ve landed atop some kind of structure. Soon I’ll climb down and explore this new planet. I hope it has tacos. Yours, Horace
Vintage-style image of an organ in a cavern.
Dearest Terrence, The cave sang; that’s how I found it. Wisps of unearthly melody from a crack in the earth. I descended heedlessly, enraptured by the siren call. After many twists and turns the cavern opened into a vast auditorium whose very stalactites were ringing. I stood inside a vast instrument, and at a keyboard sat a being the likes of which I’d never seen. Covered in soft dark fur, beckoning with a long tail, blinking her huge eyes in my lantern’s dim light. I dimmed the light further, sat at her side, and oh what a duet we played! I shan’t return. Love, Millicent

Postcards: Misunderstandings

Image of a hooded skeleton playing guitar.

My dearest Marilyn,
Meeting you was the highlight of my life. That a humble musician could play his way into the heart of such a beautiful traveler as your! When I played for you it was as if the gods above channeled their divine harmonies through my unworthy fingers.
It breaks my heart that you had to leave so soon. But I was cheered by your promise to come back for me once you prepare your home for our life together. I cannot wait. Yet I shall wait, until the sky crumbles if need be, for love such as yours.
Until you return, I will play my vihuela.
Yours eternally,
Daniel
Image of giant crickets held on a stick between two hunters.
Attn: High Command First Contact isn’t going well. We were prepared for the planet’s sapients to fear us. Since we can’t vocalize their speech or contort our digits into their non-verbal languages, we printed signs: “We come in peace,” etc. But we misjudged our relative sizes—although we’re huge compared to creatures like us on their planet, we’re not big enough to be seen as monsters. They see us as food. They captured all 8 members of the initial landing party and never even saw our (to them) tiny signs. What are your orders? Attempt peaceful contact again, or skip to the contingency plan? Hopper Team Upsilon-Nine