Subterranean Homesick Alien

He said he had hurt himself against a wall or falling down some stairs, but I knew the truth. He had fallen off the roof again. My parents didn't believe his feeble lie either, so they sent him upstairs to his bedroom. He stared at them pleadingly for a moment before silently limping up the stairs on his freshly sprained ankle. His awkward, gangly frame was slumped solemnly and his gaze was to the ground. Before he entered his room, he stopped and looked down at me, his eye piercing through mine. It was neon blue around the edges, white in the middle, and a small pinpoint of black in the center. Next to his eye was an eye patch, covering the vacant hole of his socket. He looked down again and entered into his glow-in-the-dark star covered room. I always loved his eye, even if it creeped everyone else out. Over the years I have learned to read every message that eye expresses, it took ages to learn to decode. Sometimes it's like he's trying to speak to me telepathically on a wavelength that my brain can't pick up. That's the reason he never talks, his eyes do it for him. The rest of the world just doesn't understand. He's always been an orange among apples, ever since my parents first found him on their front porch 7 years before I was born. He's a foot taller than everyone his age, he eats crayons and smiles at funerals. And sometimes he will suspiciously begin sobbing when he sees certain people, they always die in a horrible accident a week after his predictions. This has only happened 3 times, but it was enough to make my parents even more frightened. Within the week around his birthday every year, strange bumps and blemishes appear on his shoulders, the back of his neck, and the top of his hands. It's not pimples, not warts, and not moles, that's what the doctors said. I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who understands my adopted brother, or half-brother according to a few of my mom's slips, which my dad quickly corrected. Despite my efforts to connect with him, he's always struggled through judgemental societies and ridiculing schools. I'm not enough of a reason for him to want to stay here. Even I can't keep him from climbing onto the roof at night, knees to his chest, a flashlight clutched in his sweaty palms as he shines morse signals into the sky. He's up there alone, single eye scanning the stars for someone to take him back home.