33) A Martian
Wolran Kim
We wait for incredible aliens. We miss quietly inconvenient UFO’s that are never seen. We dream about an encroachment of vague shadows that just started to breathe, a self-developed fever with two eyes of Homo sapiens and a heart of a reptile. Over the river that does not flow as red blood, even through the flesh, we expect that glossy metal that came from a toxic solid, taking place of the sunshine that we never look at head on. We hope for that bacterium in the sky, which were cultured in toilet excrements, growing as bean sprouts in the air waters. We imagine them is judgment of infringing is proven with unknown calculation. Although it is shattered as pieces of broken glass, we ask that we could speak through a loudspeaker someday, for the shouting of dusts, which are never sensed. We hope we can fly over the graves in the earth, riding the Navigator of the Milky Way someday. We really want to perform an imaginary scene out of the atmosphere. We expect the pictures from the Viking probe to walk out of the monitor, walking out of paintings in the cave before dissecting, sending a chatting signal before being captured. Thereupon, we desire eagerly that we could be written as we are destroyed beautifully while we knew what was happening until we disappear. We hope every day that we are occupied like that. We want to follow the stars where we could bloom as spring flowers in space and could live without missing this star. We want to ascertain the existence of a UFO in each other’s eyes that can run to each other by the speed of light.
