Denzel took a long, hard look at the painting on his desk. He stretched the lower parts of his jaw to form a frown. The human couldn’t see him, of course – they were occasionally busy with the phone – so his frown went unnoticed. Even Denzel himself didn’t realize he was frowning.

The phone always irritated Denzel. Whatever the humans were talking about always sent weird signals to his brain that made him nauseous. It was the biggest flaw of the translation device, and it was hard to overlook it. But this was the only technology Denzel had to communicate with the pink human. If it was up to him, he would turn off the device and throw it out the window. But his superior would kill him.

However, Denzel always turned off his translator when the human was on the phone. The signals sent to is brain gave him a headache. He didn’t have any explanation for it: the soundwaves were the same, yet something in the device magnified them into loud tinnitus. Sometimes he would understand a word or two, but that only confused him even more. If he couldn’t follow a conversation, he preferred not to listen to it at all.

Denzel noticed out of the corners of his eyes that the human was acting lively; they would toss their arms around and jolt their head. It was distracting, but there was nothing he could do about it. He tried to focus all his eye lenses on the painting he was holding with the tips of his claws. Denzel could feel the paper was old and well preserved. The image was of a human holding a violin. That was a rare scene to enjoy. Denzel had become quite familiar with the concept of music and sound by now; he could even name about 15 instruments, even though he had never seen them (and very much doubted they still existed). He found it interesting how much time ancient humans must have spent trying to master sound. Denzel wondered if this was like learning to master the air currents out in the open sky.

That thought made his throat feel a bit tight. He looked out of the window. The sky was crystal clear. It was as blue as it ever could be. There was no doubt about it.

Denzel wished he could just open the window and fly away. Bathe in the sunlight one final time, then fall dead from the human’s shots. There was no doubt on his mind the pink human wouldn’t hesitate to use their device if he attempted to escape.

Denzel noticed the pink human was waving their arms outrageously. He turned his head in the human’s direction and realized they were trying to catch his attention. Denzel turned on his translator.

“This is the first time I see you space out. The weather is nice, isn’t it?” the pink human said.

A peculiar wave went through Deznel’s brain, which meant the human was trying to appear friendly.

“I hadn’t noticed,” Denzel lied and prayed to the Lizards his emotions weren’t translated together with his words.

The pink human gave a simple nod and got up from their chair. They walked over to Denzel’s desk and looked out through the window.

“I bet it’s tempting to go outside,” they murmured.

Denzel didn’t reply. He could pick up sweat from the human’s skin despite their protective suit. The human was testing him.

“What do you think of this painting? Is it a fake?” the human pointed at the painting Denzel was holding.

“It can’t be; the paper is as ancient as it gets. The paint also smells old.”

“Do you know who is on it?” the human asked.

Denzel shook his head quickly. He was truly clueless, but somewhat intrigued by the fact that the human could distinguish between other humans. He wondered what the secret to it was.

“This guy is called Mozart,” The pink human said with a hint of triumph in their voice.

Denzel took another look at the miniature human in the painting. What gave his identity away? Was it his hair? Or his face? It certainly wasn’t his body: their abdomen wasn’t even showing. But his face was as bland as that of any human. It told no story. Not with eyes as small as these.

“Mozart plays the violin,” Denzel noted. The pink human opened his jaws wide and laughed.

“He does so much more than that. But you could never understand, my friend. You are just an animal. What do you know about music?”

Contrary to what the human might have believed, Denzel had thought a lot about the concept of music. He could never hear it, of course. But he imagined it created feelings similar to those when one was looking at a painting.

“This can’t be the painting, either way,” Denzel beeped through his translator.

The human nodded and took out the next painting from the box.

“I guess we don’t have a choice other than to continue looking,” they said and left Denzel’s desk. He could finally breathe with ease.