You have never been alone.

Did you really think that a life form as complex and convoluted as human beings sprang from the molten, unforgiving ground?  In its infant years planet Earth was unfit for even the simplest life, but you already know that.  You know that it cooled, and tamed, and became the habitable place we see outside our windows when we can be bothered to look up.  You know that somewhere, somehow, a bridge was gapped, and life dug its resilient fingernails into the crust of the third planet from the Sun and refused to let go, even in the face of disaster.  How did it get there?  And beyond that – why? 

On my desk, not an arm’s length away from my keyboard, I keep a fish tank.  It’s a tiny thing – no more than five gallons – and provides life to a few mismatched goldfish who swim about the tiny enclosure, occasionally bumping into its glass walls.  Their five second memory makes it tolerable, though.  I have yet to hear them complain.  I keep this tank for one reason: I like to watch them.  As I work, or as I mindlessly trudge through the influx of content we’ve stored on the internet, it gives me a sense of calm to see them swimming about, unaware that there’s an entire universe beyond their tiny home.  If they knew of the vastness that surrounds them, would they be afraid?  Would they cease to enjoy their demure existence?  I’ll never have the answer to that.  Goldfish have limited cognitive abilities.  All I know is that I feed them and keep them safe.  For that I’m sure they would be grateful.

I can say for certain though, that humans would be paralyzed by fear if their small concept of life and death were exposed as just a tiny speck in a void.  If the curtain were drawn to reveal the truth, it would spell the end to everything they hold dear.  You see, the reality is not so kind. 

Several billion years ago we deposited a simple life form onto planet Earth as an experiment – a proverbial fish tank, if you will.  We weren’t sure if it would take given the harsh environment, but take it did.  It was a thrilling thing to see life flourish, breathe, and grow.  Call it playing God if you will – I’ll gladly answer to that name.  It seems to please you humans. 

I digress.  After the initial success of basic life we moved on to more complex beings.  Plants.  Insects.  Sharks.  Dinosaurs.  They all flourished for many years, but they were boring.  So boring.  Can you imagine several million years of watching large, aggressive reptiles blunder through a meaningless life?  It was like Public Television, I tell you.  In all fairness, if given a bit more time, the Velociraptors may have showed promise, but we are not infinitely patient.  We gave them a fair chance and they blew it, so we blew them to pieces and started over, like in the simulation games you humans are so fond of.  Restart.

This time it wasn’t reptiles we were interested in.  This time it was mammals.  We hoped they’d make more progress in less time, and we were right.  Within a few hundred thousand years, the mammals prospered into a very amusing, albeit violent, group. 

And then tragedy struck.  By tragedy, I do not mean the pitiful fights and disasters you humans consider so monumental.  A tragedy beyond your comprehension happened in a distant corner of the universe that required immediate and swift attention.  A tragedy that could have very well wiped any trace of existence off the map. 

My species fled to deal with this danger, taking their force, most of their technology, and their transportation with them.  The one thing they didn’t take was me.  I am left here on this strange, dynamic, violent planet to muddle through the mess you humans have made without my people’s guidance.  Once they left, things got a bit out of control.  I am only one against all of you. 
Of course I help when I can.  I do small things to improve the quality of human life.  You think Steve Jobs created the iPhone all by himself?  Please.  But beyond neat gadgets, you’re welcome for the antibiotics, the surgical techniques, the astronomy, and flight.  Almost all the human minds your species consider “great” had a considerable nudge in the right direction, if not a blatant shove. 

However, times have changed.  You humans no longer wave swords and hammers at one another – you wave the threat of atomic and nuclear warfare despite your abysmal understanding of the implications.  I wish for all I’m worth you would return to your petty, harmless battles.  You see, as I mentioned before, I am only one, and I am aging.  The high oxygen density on this planet has not been kind to me – much like how it is unkind to humans – and after several billion years, I am tired.  My powers no longer influence like centuries past, both to guide and protect you fools. 

I do not know what became of my kind who fled Earth so long ago to fight a battle of proportions you write science fiction novels about – perhaps they’re still fighting, or perhaps they were defeated.  What I do know is that they have not returned, and I fear they never will. 

Humans have been spoiled until this point in history – your climate has been mild, you’ve been safe from interference via galactic material (comets, asteroids), and other species have not pillaged the planet.  But, as I see your scientists have noticed, the climate is shifting.  Earth is warming, ice is melting, storms are raging.  She is restless and I am growing weak.  The alien life from across the universe are interested in your species.  They’re interested in the experiment my people played.  They want in on it, and they are not as kind as I have been.  They do not wish you well, nor are they concerned with the continuation of your species.

I look upon you as a father would his children – you are wild, naïve, and bold.  You are quick to assume you have the answers despite a pitiful amount of knowledge.  You are so very young.  Yet I know firsthand that humans are also curious, and intelligent, and can be incredibly kind.  With a few thousand more years of nurturing, I have no doubt that you could accomplish incredible things.  The other, more powerful life forms that roam our universe are aware of that as well, and it does not sit well with them.  They are selfish and unconcerned for others.  In my prime I was able to ward them off, to hold the threat of punishment by my people for their interference with our project over them, but that threat has grown tired. 

I am sure you have questions that I do not have much time or patience to answer.  How have I never been noticed before, if I’ve been here for so long?  Oh, I surely have, but not as a bug-eyed, dome-headed creature you have stereotyped as “alien.”  Among humans I am one of you.  I have stood alongside all of the best your species has to offer – Galileo, Newton, Tesla.  I can often be seen in photographs of old, lingering in the shadows as I watch with pride the great steps taken by humanity in such a short period.  I have shook the hand of every leader in every country, from the Roman Emperors to Barack Obama.  I say with sincerity that I have done my best with you fragile, chaotic creatures. 

But my time is ending.  I can feel it.  Death creeps along behind me like a silent, sinister shadow that knows it need only bide its time before I finally fall.  And when I fall, you will feel it.  You will feel it like nothing before.  I am what keeps this angst-ridden planet in a state of calm, and it is that calm which supports life.  I have wrestled with the decision to explain myself to you humans before my life is extinguished, but I could not go without sending this word. 

They will come for you.  They will come in packs, and they will come armed with weapons you have no defense against.  For that I am sorry.  How I wish that I could help.  Even now their surveillance has managed to slip past me, resulting in a loss of human life.  Every year, thousands of humans go missing and are never found.  Those missing person cases are closed under the pretense of runaway, or kidnapping.  The latter is more accurate, however it is not always a human on human crime.  I keep you all as safe as I can – for those I wasn’t able to save, I am so very sorry. 

Perhaps my people will return to their experiment and regain control.  That is your only hope for survival, I fear, and it is not a promising one.  I have long given up on ever seeing those who left again, and you would be wise to do the same.  I know your nature better than you know it yourself; you will resist my advice, you will scoff and call it a sham, but unfortunately, you will soon be taught otherwise.   

My advice is to be vigilant.  When you’re walking up the stairs alone at night and you sense a presence behind you, do not look back.  Do not slow down.  When you’re walking home in the darkness and wonder if you’re being followed because it just feels like someone is there behind you, breathing, walking – know that you are.  When you step into an empty room and sense that someone else is there, someone probably was.  Once I am gone there is no helping this. 

Whatever you do, when you’re alone outside in the dead of night, no matter how beautifully the stars beckon your eye with their ancient song and dance, I beg of you - do not look up.