The Voyage From Planet Alfie

A goofy planet with strange creatures.

The Voyage from Planet Alfie

Planet Alfie was unlike any other world in the known quadrant. It wasn’t spherical, like most respectable planets. Instead, Alfie was shaped like a soft-serve ice cream cone, with a gravity field that spiraled in lazy curls from the bottom up. The skies shimmered pink in the morning and turned a deep, glimmering green at night. But perhaps the most remarkable feature of Alfie wasn’t its odd shape or radiant sky. It was the creatures who lived there—the Miriliths.

Miriliths had translucent skin that pulsed with color depending on their emotion—calm blue for serenity, warm orange for curiosity, and a flickering magenta when embarrassed. They moved by gliding gently on long tendrils that also served as their fingers, toes, and sometimes antennae.

And they were starving.

Food on Alfie had begun to dwindle after several solar sweeps of poor soil rotation and something called “crop fatigue.” Though advanced in their understanding of emotional resonance and interstellar poetry, the Miriliths had always struggled with agriculture. Their main food source—spongy orange kavalooms—had all but disappeared.

That’s when Zeevi, the youngest engineer on Alfie, built the first spaceship.

Not for glory. Not for escape.

But for food.

⸻

Zeevi’s Dream

Zeevi was a flickering yellow-orange the day he presented his plan to the Elder Circle. “We cannot live on memories and poetry alone,” he said. “We must seek sustenance… elsewhere.”

The Elders debated, their skins turning deep hues of conflicted indigo and fretful crimson. Earth had been observed for centuries through mirrored moons and emotion-tuned telescopes. Its creatures were odd—meaty, fast-moving, prone to bursts of unprovoked laughter or violence.

But it had abundant food.

“Earth is lush,” Zeevi argued. “They don’t even notice when entire carts of fruit go uneaten. They throw away bread!”

Bread was a mythical concept to Alfie—a food that puffed up with heat and came in slices.

Eventually, the vote was cast. Five to three.

Zeevi would take the spaceship, called The Petal, and fly to Earth. He was allowed two companions: Rova, the empath-historian, and Fim, a reluctant botanist with a nervous disposition and a tendency to emit maroon-colored stress flickers.

⸻

The Journey

As The Petal launched into Alfie’s swirling sky, the citizens gathered in silence, their bodies radiating solemn hope. Zeevi’s family stood closest, trying not to show how scared they were.

“Bring us back something beautiful,” Zeevi’s sibling said, hugging him with three tendrils and a pulse of warm silver.

The voyage to Earth took twenty-two Alfian nights. Along the way, Rova documented their feelings in long, melodic vibrations stored in the ship’s core memory. Fim threw up twice—once from space turbulence, once from anxiety.

When they reached Earth’s orbit, all three stared through the viewing panel in awe.

Blue. White. Green.

So unlike home.

So… alive.

⸻

Touching Down

They landed in the dark woods outside a place called Connecticut, choosing a forest near a small town. The Petal cloaked itself in illusion—appearing to Earth eyes as an abandoned camper.

Zeevi took the first step onto Earth soil. “It smells like stories,” he whispered.

Fim scanned the air. “The trees are breathing. I can feel it.”

Rova looked toward the town, where lights twinkled and laughter echoed faintly. “They’re not so different,” she murmured.

That night, they explored carefully. The Earthlings were loud, often chaotic, but generous with food. A single event called a “picnic” could yield enough calories to feed a Mirilith for weeks.

“Look at this,” Zeevi said, holding up a bag of something called marshmallows. “Squishy sugar clouds!”

Fim was unconvinced. “What if it’s toxic? What if it turns us into… meat?”

“It won’t,” Rova said. “I scanned the compound structure. It’s 80% glucose and 20% regret.”

⸻

An Unexpected Encounter

On their third night, Zeevi wandered too close to a house on the edge of the forest. He was drawn by a sound—soft music and laughter. He peered through the window.

Inside, a teenage boy sat at a kitchen table, decorating cupcakes. There was sadness in his posture, though he smiled through it. Next to him sat an empty chair.

“Max, are you talking to Dad again?” a voice called.

The boy nodded. “Just thinking out loud, Mom.”

Zeevi froze, his body shifting into a glowing lavender of empathy. The boy—Max—looked about his age, if one could count in human years. There was something lonely but kind in his aura.

Later, in the woods, Zeevi explained what he’d seen.

“I don’t think they’re just consumers,” he said. “They love. They grieve.”

“We all do,” Rova whispered.

Fim frowned. “Then what are we doing here? Stealing from them?”

“No,” Zeevi said. “Learning.”

⸻

Max and the Alien

On the fifth night, Max found Zeevi.

Zeevi had gone back to the yard, just to watch, but he tripped over a garden hose. The thump brought Max running.

“Holy—!” Max froze. “What are you?”

Zeevi blinked. “Hungry.”

That wasn’t the answer Max expected.

After thirty minutes, two spilled cups of cocoa, and Zeevi’s best attempt at honesty, Max sat on the porch, stunned.

“You’re from another planet… made a spaceship… to find food?”

“Yes.”

“And you picked Connecticut?”

“I… like trees.”

Max laughed. And then, he didn’t.

He looked at the stars. “My dad died last year. He was an astronomer. Always thought there was life out there. I used to think he was crazy.”

Zeevi touched Max’s arm lightly. “He wasn’t.”

Their friendship was instant and full of quiet warmth. Max showed Zeevi how to toast bread. Zeevi taught Max how to listen to the pulse of a tree. They laughed. They argued about peanut butter. They watched the moon rise without speaking.

It was something both of them needed.

⸻

A Heart Divided

Back on The Petal, Fim and Rova confronted Zeevi.

“We’ve gathered enough samples,” Fim said. “We should go.”

Zeevi looked down. “I’m not sure I want to.”

“You’re in love with him,” Rova said gently.

Zeevi blinked a soft rose. “I don’t know what love is supposed to feel like.”

“Like staying, even when you could leave.”

That night, Max and Zeevi sat by a small lake.

“I know you’re leaving,” Max said. “You should. Your people need you.”

“I don’t want to go.”

“You have to.”

Zeevi was quiet. “There’s a quote we use on Alfie: ‘If you can’t be the real thing, be a cheap copy.’ I used to think it meant settling. Now I think it means trying, even if you’ll never be perfect.”

Max smiled. “That’s the most honest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

They didn’t kiss. Not then. But their hands touched.

And that was enough.

⸻

Departure

The next morning, Zeevi left a bag of marshmallows, a pressed Alfian bloom, and a hand-drawn map of stars under Max’s pillow.

He didn’t say goodbye.

The Petal lifted into the air, silent and shimmering.

From his window, Max watched it vanish into the green-blue dawn. His hand was over his heart, which ached—but not in the same way as before.

He felt seen.

Zeevi felt the same.

⸻

Return to Alfie

When The Petal landed, the Elders were waiting. Fim presented the food logs and findings. Rova spoke of Earth’s complexity.

But it was Zeevi who said, “We came looking for food. We found something bigger—connection. They are flawed. So are we. But they love fiercely. And their food is… weird. But good.”

The Elders nodded. But one asked, “Did you leave a trace?”

Zeevi smiled. “Only a marshmallow trail.”

⸻

Years Later…

On Earth, Max became a scientist. Then a teacher. Then a writer.

In his books, he described a strange boy with glowing skin and a laugh like wind through leaves. No one believed him, but everyone loved the stories.

And some nights, when the sky was very clear, he’d look up.

And smile.

Because somewhere, he knew, Zeevi was doing the same.