The Firts Human
1421 Words
Leanne stepped onto the hiking trail like it owed her an apology.
The gravel cracked under her sneakers, a rhythm sharp enough to keep her thoughts from closing in. The sun had dipped behind the ridge, casting long shadows over the forest, and she hadn't checked the time in over an hour. She didn't care where the path led. She just needed it to be away from everything else.
Her birthday had come and gone with the usual whimper. Thirty-five. No candles, no cake, just three work emails, one voicemail from her mom asking for money, and her boyfriend forgetting entirely. Again.
She kept walking, arms folded, sweat sticking her sweater to her back.
It wasn't that she wanted to cry.
It was that she didn't want to exist like this anymore-half-listened to, half-loved, just... half.
Eventually, her legs burned enough to force a pause.
She scanned the trees for a dry place and dropped onto a mossy patch near a boulder, ignoring the bugs already nibbling at her ankles.
Her eyes drifted skyward.
Thirty-five.
She had thought she'd feel something.
Like she'd step into a wiser skin.
But all she felt was itchy, unimportant, and absurdly tired of trying.
Her job—monitoring social sentiment trends—had turned into a loop of selling brands she didn't believe in, for people who didn't notice her, while supporting a family that only reached out when their bills were late.
And the man she lived with?
He used to bring her coffee in bed.
Now he brought passive aggression and silence.
In their relationship, she often felt blamed for everything that went wrong.
A healthy partnership was supposed to mean shared weight, mutual care—
but somehow, everything fell to her.
The finances. The apologies. The silence.
He made her feel like she was almost enough.
Almost successful.
Almost attractive.
Almost smart.
But never quite.
And still, she stayed.
She told herself it was stability.
That it was better than being alone.
That he wasn't always like this.
But she knew the real reason.
Her mother's voice echoed constantly in her mind—
telling her she was too old to start over,
that she should be thinking about children,
that all men had flaws, and at least this one came
home at night.
Leanne could never find the words to explain
that she couldn't imagine bringing a child into a world
she could barely hold together.
That she barely held herself together.
Deep down, she didn't feel like someone who deserved
more.
She didn't feel like someone you built a life with.
She felt... like someone you settled for.
Or left behind.
Her throat tightened.
And before she could stop it,
before she could stuff it back down where it belonged
—
the grief rose.
Overwhelmed, Leanne dropped to her knees,
the forest floor cold and damp beneath her jeans.
Tears spilled fast, breath hitching—
but she made no sound.
There was no one to hear her anyway.
She felt utterly alone.
Not just forgotten—abandoned.
"Happy birthday," she muttered bitterly to herself.
Mosquitoes swarmed at her collarbone and wrists. She swatted at them half-heartedly, frustration mixing with the sting of bites.
With a sigh, she pulled off her thin sweater and used it to fan them away.
As the wind shifted, a sudden prickle ran along the back of her neck.
And just like that— the air changed.
The forest went too quiet.
No birds.
No breeze.
No buzzing.
She straightened slowly, fingers tightening on her sweater.
That's when she felt it—
not seen, not heard—felt: a presence.
Her gaze swept the trees. And then— just beyond the next ridge. Something moved. Massive. Fluid. Upright.
Her breath caught.
It stepped between trees like they were reeds, its form impossible to fully track. Tall. Armored. Dreadlocked?
No—tendrils. Black and glinting. Not natural.
It turned its head. And for one breathless second their gazes locked.
Leanne forgot how to breathe.
The creature stood still. Watching her.
Towering.
Muscular.
Its body was encased in dark armor, shaped and etched with symbols she couldn't name.
Not like camouflage.
Not for protection.
More like something worn for battle.
Its skin was darker where exposed, slightly reptilian in texture?
Around its thick neck hung what she first mistook for beads—until she realized they were skulls.
Small ones. Too many.
Dark, silky dreadlocks framed its menacing mask, some bound in golden rings.
The mask hid all expression, but she could feel its attention—burning and direct.
It tilted its head.
Just slightly.
And then took a step forward.
Leanne didn't move.
Couldn't.
She wasn't sure if it was fear, fate, or something
stranger—something not hers, not human, that
murmured like a memory not yet lived— echoing
through her like a voice from before time:
Found... Witnessed.
As though both recognition and judgment had been passed—swiftly, unseen, but cast upon her all the same.
And for some reason she couldn't explain, being seen by it felt like being remembered.
The creature moved with an impossible grace. Its muscular legs flexed with each step, but the ground made no sound beneath it.
Her eyes flicked to the weapons strapped across its chest and thigh—bladed, coiled, alien. She had no name for any of them. Only the certainty that they could take her apart in seconds.
And still, it didn't reach for them.
It reached for her.
As it moved closer, it made a sound— a low, soft croon, like one might use to soothe a wounded animal. The tone was gentle, strange, so utterly out of place for something that looked ready to kill.
And yet—it rooted her in place.
Slowly— as if cautious not to startle her—one clawed hand rose.
Leanne flinched, but didn't retreat.
Her legs wouldn't move.
As if though sound had sunk beneath her skin and quieted something she hadn't known was trembling.
The wind stirred again.
A lock of her hair lifted—and the creature caught it.
Gently. Between forefinger and thumb.
It examined the strand, its mask angling slightly as if the texture fascinated it.
Then came a sound—low and strange.
A trill. Almost... curious.
Leanne held her breath, frozen.
Don't scream. Don't run. Don't challenge it.
Its hand moved again—closer.
She tensed. Her legs didn't respond.
Instinct screamed, but her body ignored it.
Clawed fingers touched her jaw.
She gasped.
The touch was rough. Alien.
But not cruel.
It tilted her face up.
Just a little.
Just enough to see her.
The world was silent.
Even the trees didn't dare move.
Leanne stared into eyes mostly concealed behind the mask—unblinking, unreadable.
And for a second that stretched far too long, she wasn't sure if she was going to die— or if she had already crossed some invisible line.
A sound rose in its throat—a deep, guttural vibration.
Leanne let out a small, terrified squeak.
Her limbs locked. Her breath hitched. Every instinct screamed at her to fight—but there was nothing human to fight. No face to read. No rules to trust.
Still, something in her—raw, trembling, stupid— reacted.
"Get off me, you freak!" she blurted—too fast to stop it.
The words weren't brave.
They weren't even loud.
But they landed.
And behind the glassy visor of its mask_she saw it
The wheels turning behind his eyes.
The cold, deliberate weight of thought.
And too late, she understood—
this creature, this male, was intelligent.
And by the look of his armor—his weapons, his tech—
far too advanced to forgive that kind of insult.
The creature froze.
Then, slowly... released her.
And stepped back.
Fists flexing. Shoulders squared.
He seemed confused— as if he didn't know what he'd
just done.
Or why.
The wind rustled the trees again.
Her sweater hung from her hand. Her knees shook.
She didn't dare speak.
Didn't dare move.
He stared a moment longer.
And then— turned.
And vanished into the forest without a sound.
Leanne remained where she stood,arms trembling, lips parted, lungs burning.
He was gone.
And all at once—
an unexpected ache opened in her chest.
Not relief.
Something worse.
She had been alone when he arrived. But now, somehow, she felt more alone in his absence.
Like she had been seen— and by him too, discarded.
- Writer
