Banging. That’s all I ever hear now. Humans banging on the transparent wall. Humans laughing, humans roaring, humans banging.
  Time seemed meaningless in the endless space of my thoughts, bending and twirling. Minutes stretched into hours and hours stretched into days. What never changes is the banging.
  A human girl seemingly five or six years of age wandered away from the crowd and walked over to the transparent wall, her pupils dilating when she saw me. This, I had inferred, was an indicator of surprise in human society. The red-headed girl came closer, I could see her face speckled with brown spots like stars dotting the night sky. How I missed the sky, souring through clouds. How I’ve longed to have just one more trip through space, gazing with childlike wonder every time I pass a new galaxy.
  She gently tapped the transparent wall thrice with her knuckle. I closed my four eyes, drifting back to the days when I was chief astronaut on the planet Redmolt, in the constellation of—
  “Hello?”
  The girl had spoken so softly that it sounded like a lullaby. I slowly opened my eyes. Most of the tourists seemed to be bored with me and had moved on to inspect my spaceship, only the red head stood there, blue eyes wide. I focused a bit more on her eyes, for on Redmolt, blue was not a color you see every day. Her irises were tinted with multi-colors, purple shades mixed with gold melded into an endless pit. The usual anger and bitterness dissipated like water vapor.
  “Hello.” She said again, pressing her hands to the wall.
  “Talk all you like Merida,” a boy’s voice rang out, laced heavily with mockery “maybe you should join the poor thing as well, you two do seem similar.”
   “Look at the poor thing,” a girl’s voice purred, “not having anyone, bit like you Merida!”
A chorus of laughter erupted from the other side of the wall, human faces jeering at Merida.
Merida was just about to turn away, eyes glassy with tears when I leaned in closer to the transparent wall, pressing my hands on it.
  “Hello.”