Space Oddity by Dee Mohammed (17, Texas)*

Yesterday, you were perched on my kitchen countertop, sharp-toothed smile decorated with the pulpy carcasses of whole strawberries. You looked like the lovechild of a geisha and an anglerfish and one of my nightmares, pale skin and reddened lips brightened by the light that swung from your forehead. When your deft hands plucked out another strawberry from the box, your mouth opened wide enough so as to house a small animal before you popped the fruit inside. Strangely, your hands were the most human thing about you, opposable thumbs and all. 

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This was part of my daily routine; observing you, Lovecraftian and lovely, as you razed through your foodstuffs for the day. You liked fruits more than the instant ramen and prepackaged salads I offered before, those being the lonely inhabitants of my fridge and pantry. Fresh produce is expensive, I wanted to chide, but you wouldn’t have understood. I felt responsible for you in some distantly parental way, so I dealt with the expenses of cubed dragonfruit and bagged cherries and plump blackberries to hear you warble and snap your maws in pleasure. 

As I shed my jacket and shoes and workplace propriety, you carefully divided your stash. There was something reverent in your movements as you offered me a clutched handful of strawberries, like this was your Eucharist, your breaking of fast. Your fingertips became sunken with indentation, far deeper than mine could ever go without being punctured and bloodied. I accepted the sacrifice with equal gravitas and a wan upturn of lips. Your kind — if there were any left from where you came from — must have lived in packs or hives or familial units, because you took ineffable pleasure in seeing me nibble at the fruit. 

I couldn’t help, even after so many months, but speculate your origins. I wondered: Were you born from a torn seam in the universe, like Aphrodite from the foam of the sea? Did you flow from a god’s pen, written into the stars? Was the forgotten corner of my mind your birthplace? Is it just you, or do you have family? A leader, a lover, someone to go back to? Why are you here, in my home, on my countertop? What do you need, what do you seek? 

That was yesterday. Today, you’re gone. I open the fridge and see it overflowing with fruits — I’ve never owned so many fruits. I crack open a new box of strawberries, bite into one, and let myself feel the sensation of flesh and seeds and juice fulminating under my teeth. I hope you 
can tell your leaders and your lovers that Earth was a pretty good place to stay. I hope you found what you were looking for.

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