The aliens came for me last night. They were covered in
peach-skin and crow feathers. Their eyes were the color of sunset.
The
aliens came for me, and they had other things on their minds than I. 'Finally,' I thought. What could
I do?
Things
looked obtuse in the cafeteria light they emitted from their plaster chest
plates.
The
aliens wore what they came in. Some were in shorts and not one of them were
wearing socks. I thought spacesuits would’ve been appropriate. They told me,
“Can’t we get a break here? Nobody sent us a dress code.”
I
was lying in my bed, imagining what life would be like without toes. I was
innocent. All the lights were off. Not even a louse was stirring. Little could
I have guessed, otherworldly appropriate arrangements were being made for me
all the while.
The
aliens were wearing goat heads as masks at first, but removed them politely
after a short moment of my staring. They laid the goat heads on the floor. I
was glad they were not laid on my bed.
I
asked them if the world they came from was as round as this one. The shortest
one (some were as tall as my escritoire) told me, “Ha! Your world is not round.
It is an oblate spheroid, dummy.”
I
hadn’t expected to be paralyzed with just looks. I’d thought at first, ‘Perhaps
they will use ray guns to numb me up.’ I was sorely disappointed that they were
without weapons of any sort. They had belts with no buckles. Their hair was
like chewed beef jerky, except most of them were blonds.
The
aliens used their hands like wands. I spied one of them casting a spell on my
toaster. I told him, “Hey, buddy boy. Why don’t you try your luck on my
computer? It hasn’t worked in years.”
He
made a gesture that usually accompanies a laugh without laughing. He said, “I
don’t know your language, you coprophagous dick. Get it?”
“What
the…?” I managed to exclaim/mutter before his look set my mouth to mute.
I
lay there before them, unable to move or speak. Strangely enough I wasn’t
worried about my situation. I felt at peace, dashed with a slight tingle of
euphoria even. They rummaged through my things. One of them cut his leg (they
had two legs, just like us-- though theirs were hairless and thin as pencils)
on a safety pin protruding from a jacket in my closet. He (I assumed they were
all males; I’m not sure why) screamed out, “I am not human but I still need to
be loved!” Then he slammed the closet door closed and began to softly cry. His
tears were hot, and I could hear them singeing my carpet as they fell.
The
aliens came for me, and they didn’t make much noise or start a fuss over it.
They moved gracefully in smooth arcs of compassion. I traced their motions with
my eyes. All seemed well.
The
aliens came for me. They wanted to improve their spelling. I wanted to help
them, but for some reason I did not. My fingers ached with carpal-tunnel
nightmares.
An
alien, one who seemed brave and hardy, gave me use of my mouth again. I
immediately wished he hadn’t.
“Help
us to be accurate in our communication, please.”
“Not
I. Not me. Not this here paralyzed sucker. That’s for sure.”
“Our
brains are silicone. Nobody’s taught us how to be compassionate.”
“Join
the fucking club.”
“That’s
it. All communication is quite pointless. We get it. We’re out of here.”
“Good.
Oh, and by the way, one more thing: could you fix my TV before you go? It only
speaks when spoken to. I can’t stand it.”
They
gathered around my bed. I noticed for the first time that there were five of
them in all. They were wearing black lab coats. I gathered a bit of gall and
told them, “Okay. Listen. I’ll give you some advice before you split.” They all
bent over a tad at the waist in expectation. “Nauseous is properly used only to
mean ‘causing nausea’ and it is incorrect to use it to mean ‘affected with
nausea.’ When you feel sick to your stomach you feel nauseated. There, does
that help?”
They
were all smiles, though their smiles were lizard smiles: mostly licks of their
thin tongues over their thin lips.
They
left as quickly as they’d come, without a trace.
My
TV hasn’t been quite the same ever since.
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