I make people cry. The little people of this forsaken planet.
I do not wring tears from them deliberately. It is because I am a beautiful being. That is what people of Earth say. They look at me and stare, especially at my tawny mane. My stature. My bronze skin. They cannot believe what they see ... what they hear....
Music is universal. An old man in the village square was fiddling away at a battered but serviceable violin. Approaching him, I stretched out my hand. Mutely and knowingly, he responded by handing over the instrument to me. After my performance of selections from Music of the Spheres, the town folk sat in stunned silence. Momentarily, not a few let escape muffled sobs. Others broke down unashamedly. Some whispered "Paganini has returned!" The grown men who cried pretended not to. Old ladies crawled toward me afterwards and said that the chaconne sounded like a child wailing. They were crying when they told me that.
They know nothing about music or life or what is important. My presence is all that matters in this wide world. My brief but necessary presence in this sightless, darkened world. People of Earth know nothing and do not accomplish anything of merit. They waste space. They have no knowledge of that realm beyond, that world whence I have come.
Some of them do notice things, however, such as when I was walking on a sidewalk near the square where I had performed. There was a line of ants marching in unison across my path. I stepped aside because I did not wish to wipe out a single of the little fellows in my strides. I see things like this - little things. People walking toward me saw the ants, too, and they noticed how careful I was and they thought how kind and sensitive a being I am, not to hurt ants as they go about their important business.
I know people. I see inside them. They were saying to themselves, there goes a beautiful person. He wouldn't hurt an ant.
They were crying....