Crash-landing on earth was never part of my plan, but I was not sure if I regretted it or not. Frankly, I was a little flabberghasted when I stepped off my ship and took my first step on the dreaded planet, immediately recognizing the area described in the horror stories my grandfather used to tell me. I had turned on my heel and went to fix my mistake, trying desperately to get my ship to move, pounding uselessly on the colorful buttons, but it just gave a feeble groan and shut down completely.
I was stranded.
Stranded on a planet plagued with war and conflict, fleshy beings too self-obsessed to realize their errors, an inevitable ending waiting to swallow everything whole. If my species slept, then I would have been sure I was having a nightmare, but it was real.
The trash that littered the streets as I walked nowhere was real. The exhaust fumes that strangled me when I breathed in were real. The abandoned baby toys lying on the side of the road, lost and forgotten, were real. Everything was real.
I could smell and see, taste and touch the horrific tales about this planet that had been passed on for generations. I thought I was going to die.
Until I found them.
They were two humans, as lost and confused in this world as I was, and they stuck with me. We met at a coffee shop, seeing as the drink was bitter enough for me to be able to taste it, I spent a lot of time there. One day I walked into the shop only to find that my usual table was occupied by them, their heads buried in their textbooks, studying furiously. I sat at the table anyway, and they both raised their heads, confused.
“Sorry,” I said, realizing it wasn’t normal human custom to plop down by strangers.
“Don’t sweat it,” one of them said.
The other pushed their textbook towards me, “Please tell me you understand quantum mechanics.”
“Ah,” I blinked at their pleading faces and looked down at the page, recognizing the complicated material, “Yes, here…”
They were college students, both of them blissfully unaware of where I actually came from despite their excellence in academics. When I wasn’t working to repair my ship, I spent my time with them, simply living. I became terribly fond of them and the places we’d go when their classes ended. When summer rolled around, nearly two months after my crash, I began to realize that this planet wasn’t as terrible as it seemed.
There were streams and ponds that weren’t contaminated, and we skipped rocks across them, seeing who could get theirs the farthest. I always won. There were thousands of species of animals, and canines became my favorite. There were different types of people with varying personalities and looks, each of them more unique than the next. There were weird but enjoyable traditions, like sitting around a fire and roasting marshmallows. There was so much to discover, and still so much good left on the planet that it made me regret my prejudices. 
But nonetheless, I had worked tirelessly to repair my ship and continue my trek through the galaxies. It was functional again, thanks to the metal parts I had scavenged from dumps, and the ship was set for take-off in a few hours. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to leave.
All I thought of that night, the night when I made the most important decision of my life, was how they always asked me “What would you do if it was your last night on earth?” It was a question meant for thinking, not meant to be answered.
But I answered mine, because I was lying on an old porch of a farmhouse, my two companions at my side. We were gazing at the stars, the wood beneath our backs uncomfortable and dirty, but no one attempted to move.
It was funny, I thought, how entranced they were with the late night sky, even though they could only see the glass of the window. I saw through the window and outside, far into space, each and every star, every galaxy, every planet in extreme detail, and they only saw a dark blanket peppered with lint. I wanted to laugh, not at them, but for them, because if they knew what they were missing while being grounded on earth, they’d laugh too.
“Do you really have to leave?” A soft voice to my right broke the quiet.
I had told them a week ago that I would be leaving to find work somewhere in the country, and although reluctant to let me go at first, they eventually nodded, both of them accustomed to loss. Except it wasn’t a loss. Not to me, at least.
I could keep an eye on them to make sure they were okay, like they always did for me. They had taught me to live life to the fullest, even if it just meant enjoying the little things, like looking at stars.
“Yeah.”
The minutes ticked by, and clouds drifted in front of the moon. I didn’t want to go.
It didn’t make sense to me, how I had come here by mistake, thinking I would die, only to be lying on a rickety porch two months later, debating on whether or not I should stay. My two friends, who couldn’t find their place in the universe, managed to have more of an impact on me than anyone ever has in my one thousand years of living.
I wasn’t sure if I didn’t want to leave earth, or if I didn’t want to leave them.
“Hey,” I said with fifteen minutes left, “What would you do if it was your last night on earth?”
There was a snicker to my left, “Probably this.”
Ah. There was my answer.
I sat up, rubbing my sore back and stretching my neck. They tilted their heads at me curiously.
“What’s up?” My friend on the right asked, sitting up as well.
They were just like me, even if they were human and I was not. They understood me, and, as they have said in the past, would follow me to the ends of the earth if I asked them to do so.
I knew my decision.
“Come on,” I said, the smallest trace of a smile on my face. “I want to show you guys something.”