Your neighbour was strange. His vibrant house sat amongst the rows of bland and dull suburbia like wearing hot pink socks in black tie. It was a wonder his eccentricism remained unfettered this far at all, yet here his unrestrained multicoloured residence endured. The colours were mostly contained inside, saturated with pinks, greens, yellows, and blues. His profuse idiosyncrasy extended to his interests as well; his extensive 70s and 80s pop cultural menagerie. No one could help themselves to rumour on his hyperfixations, or at least make quick silent judgments. He seldom did mind, anyway.

Dallon was content appreciating the opportunity to live among the humans he was so enchanted by, even if his circumstances were less than grantable of optimism. And in the end, ironically, the thing he was so captivated by was also his cause of adversity and rejection. He was ostracised and banished by his own race, cast out and alone. Not like he was ever satisfied under their government in the first place…

But with his ability to shapeshift into human form, perhaps one day he could finally be accepted.

The neighbours have seen him about once or twice. His soft blue eyes were as bright at his front door, his brown hair laying messily against his head in loose waves. But no one ever really knew him. They didn’t know where he came from. They didn’t know what he was.

It was better that way, He often convinced himself. He’d rather be considered a weird human than an alien freak. If they knew what he really was…he would forever be alone….