AL-MARS

I was younger when the landers first arrived. They ate the earth and drank the rivers dry. I did not see them when they touched the ground, but I heard them when they tore through the sky. My father stood in the field where one did land. He told us stories about that lander late in the night: "It had a tail of fire as it fell to the earth. It planted itself in the soil and unfolded, with its reflective petals chasing the sun."

My father watched the lander as it opened its eyes, spun its neck, and fed from the ground. So he fetched water for the traveller with a pouch my mother had made. Many times I heard him say, "Even a travelling river we offer it water to drink." He placed the pouch at the foot of the lander but its stance did not change. So he poured the water into its mouth until the lander shivered and its skin began to stain. "Rust coloured its mouth and began to spread across its body and limbs. It then became stiff and hulked over before my eyes. I saw it turn to iron dust."

The rust continued to spread. It moved through the trees and across the field. It consumed our home and the homes on the lands that neighboured our own. Even my father, once tall like steel, was consumed with grief until he was rust.

Today I return to a land I do not know. Its soil is red with the rust of the machines that have continued to come, and the rust that has spilled from our veins. I stood where my father once did, with a pouch of water in my fist. I watched the skies and waited for the machines to descend, ready to welcome the thirsty landers again.