The Tale of Tristan and Saffron

Prologue: Mind & Soul

<^~*~^> Saffron Rhea Folasade <^~*~^>

I didn't like it. In fact, I hated it. I glowered at it in abhorrence. I wanted to start again.

It wasn't enough, not nearly as ensnaring to the human eye as I envisioned it.

I didn't just want it to capture someone's attention as they strolled passed it in the school hall next week, I wanted people to discover it–as if finding their first gold coin–and ponder over its significance. Not for attention or esteem, of course, nor for my own recognition. I just wanted adults to understand that young people–us seemingly wild, ignorant teenagers–had hearts as passionate for equality as any other age group.

Cliché? I thought to myself, yeah...it sounds so. But there’s more to the story.

This ceramic work was not inspired by planet Earth; not by a fictional book or movie or a creature from my imagination. My work was supposed by styled around the belief system and cultural differences of another planet, and humanoid species. I wanted it to look unearthly, stunning, disturbing even; certainly not pretty or cute, in no way appealing to the human eye. Because this wasn't made for the human eye, it was made for the alien's, an ‘otherworldly’ creation.

Unfortunately, the artist, herself, was all too Human–from this world you and I share daily–and lacking in even the homo sapiens artistry of moulding and painting clay. It was still just a beginner's piece, a year eight's clumsy handiwork. No matter how much effort and detail I applied, I knew it would never live up to my own standard–and its physical appearance did not deserve the respect of an entire species.

I only hoped I hadn't offended the aliens by representing their pride and religion poorly. 

Prologue: Conscience & Spirit

<^~*~^> Tristan Whise <^~*~^>

“What do you remember, Tristan?” Dr. Harkin inquired.

"I remember landing," I answered, deadpan.

Out of old habit, I fingered the Aratay-infused totem around my neck; it dangled over my heart, in the centre of my chest.

It was a tiny object and, to bystanders, of very little consequence. A miniscule, metallic, glowing, painted red flame strung through a leather strap tied eternally around my neck. It was ever warm and, when its radiance began to wane, that was an indicator that it needed to be refilled with the sacred Fire Element of my species.

At good times, that was about once a season. At bad times, that was once an earthbound fortnight.

Aratay wasn’t my true Element, it was my sister’s, and the powers I wielded were the consequence of her generosity and that special talent to infuse her excess Fire energy into this totem I’d kept close since boyhood.

Of course, you Humans don’t necessarily need to know any of that.

“Any other details?” The doctor pressured, rousing me from the inner workings of my conscience. The look I returned must’ve exasperated him and, sighing, he added less composedly: “Look, Mr. Whise, I’m aware you were only a little boy at the time of your people’s Arrival, but this survey is crucial.”

“Why?” I asked with that bluntness my sisters called the ‘Fire tapping into my spirit’.

“Please, Tristan, answer the questions and you can leave. Let’s try not to waster each other’s time, hmm?” That patronising smile was grating. “Do you remember any specifics on the day of your Arrival to Earth?”