“We have landed on the moon.”
“Good, I need you to report everything and anything you see.”
“Yes, yes – your directions are always appreciated and understood.”
“Good. Now, why do you seem to be communicating in a manner more likely to be used by – ah, well, let's say...a medic?”
“No, no sir! Never. I simply have been, well, perplexed.”
“Perplexed you say? Or perhaps you would like to go fetch the real medic from the cockpit to come and check on your IMMEDIATE TERMINATION!”
“NO, sir, NO!”
“You are further proving my point. Relax yourself.”
“Yes sir, now I must head out to the field to begin my analysis.”
“Yes, you must. Well hurry on out and go — go before I reconsider!”
“Yes, sir.”
“Maybe I can find a reason to debunk the medic," he grumbles.
“This is astronaut 504 to dispatch.” I head out searching every inch for any “residue" but find none. I continue my search but yield nothing. I seem to be losing concentration when I see an object — no, an osteology-organism? Just sitting there, staring… Where is its task!? No one had seen an osteology- osteologist? Not even the medics. They were always exterminated before anyone ever saw a glimpse of them. If that is even the correct terminology – I don't understand how to describe an osteology I simply understand that term is associated with bones… No, this is simply a mere distraction. I must continue with the task at hand. But I know something is wrong, I – I feel something – NO – commander's voice rings in my mind. IMMEDIATE TERMINATION! But I have an incline that something- simply something must be done. That is when I notice- notice the small but oh ever so meaningful I soon learn. A piece of parchment. Again, another rare site for I 504. I-I 504?
“NO! 504 to dispatch. I found, well… parchment?” Shzzzzzz shzzzzz zzzzzz
Static. Well, I am going to inspect. After all, I am still on task. That is what I am for. To pick up the residue. What residue?
“NO! Dispatch, I have a sighting of remnants. May I begin my examination?”
SHZZZZZSHHHHH ZZZZZSHSHSHSH It is supposed to represent static
static. I may as well begin the examination. I begin to walk towards the site but suddenly my pace has quickened a considerable amount and as a come near my stomach twist. Lines simple up and down side to side. Over and over. I remember this. It feels like something I know. I don't understand? I am a liability… I simply can not complete my task. But I remember that those lines are letters. Letters form words I know. No, I cannot do this. I must not lose track of my task. But I feel that I must try – simply try to understand this thing. For it sits ever-so-perfectly that it seems almost wrong to stay here observing our 191 home – home, or environment? He is rusty – old and rusty. The imperfection feels unreal; the way it leans the rust on its suit that lays beside it, but most of all the way I feel it is like me. It’s similar in a way. So I do, I read it.
“I am the loading sign that never loads. The tree that was always dead. The bag of chips that is always empty. The messy drawer in your desk that is never neat. The shirt in the back of the closet you never wear. The rock collector kit your grandma got you that will never be opened. The light switch that does nothing. The door that always stays closed. The missing piece of a set you never bother to look for because it served its purpose but has long since worn away into the empty void where things go missing. I feel the pain you will never experience. The fear you will never understand. The dreadful rust I find comforting. The loss of love you can’t comprehend. But most of all the beautiful beautiful imperfection of being truly human…”