[ WP ] Throughout your childhood you are made fun of for `` making up your own language '' , till Earth is contacted by another race and you are the only one that understands them .

**November 4, 2000** 
 
 
 I picked up my father ’ s old radio transceiver and pushed the button on the side. It took a bit of force, as age had slightly misaligned the components, but then it clicked in and gave a satisfying beep. 
 
 Dad had told me that it was permanently set to what was now an unused frequency, at least near our home. But my imaginative eight-year-old mind was always fascinated by the thought that someone could be out there listening, even if they might have trouble understanding it. 
 
 “ Bu-raka muralil ponan al-mu! ” I spoke excitedly into the device, stating in my personal language that my father had gotten me a new bike. “ Mu-dov fadas ag-bu. ” This meant I had thanked him. I proceeded in this manner to update nobody in particular of the events that had transpired that day. I ’ m not sure how this ritual began. I suppose in my sense of youthful wonder I had been intrigued by the radio device, and as for the language, I had been developing that for as long as I could remember. It was a fun creative outlet that became a bit of an obsession. 
 
 Nearing the end of my daily update, my father came into his study where I was speaking and let out a snort. “ What did I tell you about that gibberish? You should be using that creativity on something useful, boy. Let me have that. ” He reached out a meaty hand and took the transceiver, and I wandered back to my room dejected. 
 
 ***** 
 
 **April 22, 2015** 
 
 
 I walked up to the tent. Military personnel were frantically buzzing about in the vicinity, but my focus was on the sign above the entrance flap. “ Alien Info. ” So simple and matter-of-fact, which seemed so ridiculous at a time like this. A time that was even more ridiculous for me than anyone else, though they might not realize it. 
 
 My whole life I had been made fun of, largely for the way I would speak in my own language at times. I had become a total outcast. ‘ Acceptance ’ wasn ’ t in my dictionary. I didn ’ t dare to pretend that this would all have something to do with me, that I was somehow special. But I didn ’ t have anything to lose going in and telling them what I knew. 
 
 The extraterrestrials were communicating by radio, from their flying fortress above. They were transmitting at every frequency. The world was wondering what all the unintelligible noise meant, but it wasn ’ t nonsense to me. *It was my language. * Fliers had been distributed all over asking for anyone with information, and here I was, where they had told me to go. For I did have information. I understood the words. “ Su-yara dov ag-bu po bu-rakatu pootan, ” the broadcast repeated over and over, everywhere. This translated to, “ We would speak to the one who has authority. ” 
 
 I took a deep breath and strode into the tent. The officers inside looked up at me from some notes they seemed to be poring over intently. 
 
 “ They ’ re asking to speak to someone with authority, ” I said simply. 
 
 “ How do you understand them? ” the apparent ranking official asked after staring for a moment. There was little incredulity in his voice, for as absurd as my claim to understanding the aliens may seem, they were beyond desperate and had already seen enough of the unbelievable to believe. 
 
 “ It ’ s a language I invented in my childhood… at least I was pretty sure I invented it. I have no idea how they ’ ve come to use it. ” 
 
 “ Who are they? ” another uniformed man in the tent asked, hoping I ’ d have answers. 
 
 “ I have no idea about that either, ” I replied. “ Shall I try speaking to them? Is there a way to? ” The officers muttered to each other a moment then turned to me and simply nodded, beckoning for me to follow them. 
 
 They ushered me into one of their armored trucks and carried me off, quickly, to a spot on the outskirts of my city where a great beam of light about three feet in diameter was pointed straight into the ground from the ship above. It seemed as likely a place as any to be able to communicate with the unknown beings. They brought radio equipment as the visitors seemed to be communicating through that medium. They handed me a transceiver not unlike the one I had used in my childhood, just a bit newer, and seemed to wait expectantly for me to do something. I gazed up the beam of light at the massive craft in the sky, and pushed the button. *Beep. * 
 
 `` Mu-rakatu pootan, ” I said, somehow both into the radio in my hand and toward the heavens. Though nobody else present knew it, I had claimed authority. The light suddenly shifted from white to purple, and a crackle came from the device in my hand. 
 
 In the same raspy voice that spoke in their original broadcast, the aliens began explaining to me that they had received radio transmissions several years ago, every twenty-four earth hours or so, and had analyzed the language and discovered how to communicate using it. They had then traced the signal back to Earth and assumed it was our planetary speech. 
 
 A tear ran down my cheek as I explained to them that it had just been me sending those waves into space. *Someone had been listening after all. * They eventually asked for a representative to come up to their vessel, to exchange knowledge and ease our species into a relationship of some sort. They offered to perform the same analysis and learn other languages to be able to speak to whomever I sent, but I told them it wouldn ’ t be necessary. I looked around at the humans surrounding me, watching me speak gibberish. To the landscape beyond, the planet that had never quite seemed like home. Then I said simply, “ Ru-vun mu. ” *Take me. * I set down the transceiver and stepped suddenly into the bright purple glow before the officers could stop me. I felt myself ripped off the ground and sailing up toward the unknown. 

