A Spacelander's Fare

Beauty is in the Heart of the Beholder

The curator, bewildered, followed him.

So the indented exit opened, and Herbert ran outside, his eyes closed, hoping he would die somehow.

The curator exited as well.

"What's got you in a fuss?" he exclaimed irritatingly.

Herbert turned to him in tears. "You built me up! You gave me the chance to see infinite beauty! In that huge mind of yours, did you ever think that I would be upset!"

This is a genuine cosmic disappointment, and the curator did not know how to respond. "Well, perhaps I could show you other exhibits. I mean, there's the fourth dimension. No, no, you can't. The painting of pure emotion? No, you can't experience that. The multi-world simulations! You can do—"

Herbert was not listening, just staring at the landscape. A tear gently left his eye, not a tear of despair; no, a tear of pure emotion brought about by sheer beauty. It was like he was standing on a gas giant. The ground was covered in minute streams of gas, gently spewing from innocent geysers about half a foot wide. They were among the colors of yellow, red, and dark blue—mixing together into a magnificent spectrum of light, looking like an oil painting. Then, in the distance, a great mountain rose from the ground, brown in color. Massive, unimaginable clouds swirled slowly miles above them. In the spaces uninhabited by them, stars gleamed beautifully. Herbert was speechless.

"What's wrong?" the curator asked sincerely.

"Nothing."

"Well then, let's come back inside."

"Wait," he interjected, "why don't we stay out here?"

"I don't see the point in that."

There was a long pause between conversations when Herbert explained, "You know what your museum doesn't have."

"What might that be?"

"Art."

"We do. We have several—"

"No, those are just exhibits. You never stop to look at the real beauty outside. Look at it!" Herbert yelled, drowning in bliss as he kicked the gasses high above their five-inch resting zone, widely smiling.

The curator finally looked at the terrain, and then he sat down on the ground, staring. A tear fell from his false, simulated eye. "This is the first time I've been outside in the fifteen years of me working here."

"Brilliant isn't it. You aliens—"

"Ex-species."

"You extraterrestrials keep searching, time and again, for an exhibit or art-piece better than the last. Never stopping to see the beauty in what you already have."

"You... make a good point," the curator responded, genuinely meaning it.

They sat, watching the clouds and mountains swirl and sit.

"What next?" he asked.

"You could be an exhibit. 'Oldest Human Alive.' You could give us information on your history. We can dissect your ship."

"But will anyone be interested in me?"

"The scientists will," he responded.

"Alright," he said, finally resting. "How am I breathing?"

"Oh simple, the mechanisms of the museum altered your lungs when you first arrived. There is no air here, just the natural atmosphere."

"I wouldn't've expected anything else. This has been a brilliant fare."

"I think your the smartest human I met," responded the curator kindly.

"Thank you," Herbert retorted. There was a long silence until, "Matthew!"

"Pardon?"

"I have a crewmate on my ship! Oh, he must be worried sick."

"You have a lot for you and Matthew to explain."

"We sure do."

They sat in the myriad of gasses, gazing upon the infinite majesty of the cosmos.