Paradox

The Paradox

This world is a total paradox, and I feel like Alice in Wonderland in her shrunken phase, except I haven’t yet found the cake with eat me written on it.  Ben must have found it first and eaten far too much, because he’s been growing to an impossible size. He burst from his clothes and now towers like a human high‑rise. Luckily, he let me climb onto his hand as he was changing.

I stand in the centre of his palm, which feels like a vast desert plain, the lines in his skin deep ridges. My voice is no more than a chirp; even a whisper from him is a gale.  But when our skin touches, a warm telepathy bridges the distance. Through it, we can comfort each other.

We landed here five days ago. The planet seemed perfect: oxygen, water, thriving vegetation. Alien, yes, but alive. We followed every protocol. When the computer finally gave us the all‑clear, Ben and I were the first to step outside. We always cover each other’s backs.

We found no signs of life.  But something found us.A shimmer in the air. A prickle along my spine. A sense of being observed by something patient, curious, and older than the soil beneath our boots. I told myself it was nerves. Ben said nothing, but I saw the way he kept glancing over his shoulder.

When we returned to the ship, the others wouldn’t let us in. Ben was already growing. I was already shrinking. Our friends were terrified.So here we are: me standing barefoot in his hand, clutching a red balloon for balance, the string thick as a braided rope in my fist. I speak to him through the soles of my feet. I send warmth, reassurance, love. For a moment, he steadies.Then a tremor runs through him.Fear freezes me. He is changing again. A shimmering haze surrounds his body. I shiver I   feel a  presence that never speaks aloud, only listens. Only waits.

Ben lurches.I’m flung from his hand. My heart leaps into my throat as I plummet until the balloon tugs upward, slowing my fall. I land hard on a leafy surface, pain flaring along my side.The world goes dark.  The sharp smell of ozone shifts to lavender, then to the scent of freshly washed sheets.

Panic claws at me. Has the planet shifted again? Has the Watcher pulled me somewhere else? Ben’s voice echoes inside my skull, huge and frightened. 

“Clara, are you alright? Are you hurt?”

Light floods back. I blink, disoriented, staring at the familiar ceiling of my bedroom.

Ben is leaning over me — normal‑sized, hair sticking up, eyes full of concern.I sit up, breath catching.Something is curled in my fist.A thin piece of balloon string.  And on the inside of my palm, faint as dust, a single word I don’t remember writing:

Waiting.