Wednesday, April 28, 2004

V
Simon arched his back, getting out of the range of Brooks’ swing. His right hand shot out and grabbed his attacker’s extended forearm. Hoping for the best, he applied pressure.

Simon got more than the best. Brooks actually cried out in pain, which totally took Simon by surprise. Since when could he hurt Brooks?

“Damn you, Lewis!” the jock howled, yanking his arm away. “I will kick your ass!”

“Gotta’ catch me first,” Simon sneered, more confident than he expected.

Brooks took another swing, with the opposite arm; however, rather than dodge, Simon got a wild notion. He outright blocked the attack, deflecting the blow with his forearm.

Good lord, Simon thought. How the hell am I doing this? This isn’t possible! Maybe this has something to do with the metal stuff…if that’s the case, me likes muchly!

Brooks grew frustrated again and charged Simon, having lost any type of planning. His drunken rage at being humiliated by this…this nobody was beyond measure. He was working on an animalistic level.

The sudden brutality frightened Simon, so he decided to test his theory right then and there. If the metal stuff on his right hand was what caused his newfound skills, then perhaps the concentration would be strongest at the point of infestation (for lack of a better term.)

All the while, the mysterious pair watching in the shadows stood silent. The shorter young man tried to make eye contact with his companion, but she remained focused on the battle. The look in her eyes revealed a simple truth: the gears were turning.

Simon waited for Brooks to get close enough. As the larger teenage was within striking distance, Simon suddenly thrust his metallic right hand out into Brooks’ stomach.

It was like a bat hitting a baseball. Brooks was literally thrown off his feet, sailing about ten yards through the air before crashing into the side of his car. He slumped to the ground.

“….owww….”

Brooks’ buddies, who had been hooting and hollering incoherently all through the fight were suddenly stuck dumb. Stevens glared at Simon.

“…you…what the hell are you, man? What’s up with your hand?”

Simon, for his part, was terrified at the reaction his attack had. The metal coating hadn’t just changed him; it had made him a freak. Although he always considered himself emotionally alienated, he had never been physically identifiable as unique. Now, the gripping realization that he might have to wear a Michael Jackson glove for the rest of his life made him want to wet himself.

A second realization his harder: the metallic coating was spreading. At first, it had stopped at his wrist; now, it stopped in the middle of his forearm. When would it stop?

Not looking back to the drunks, Simon raced away into the night. After a while, he found himself in a secluded spot and simply collapsed to his knees, totally overwhelmed.

“What’s happening to me?” he muttered aloud. “Dear God…what’s happening to me?”

“I can tell you,” a feminine voice said. “But you’ll have to cooperate fully.”

Simon looked up; the strange Hispanic girl and her vertically challenged companion stood before him.

“Wha-who-who are you?”

“Observe.” Suddenly, their forms began to shimmer, like a television with bad reception. When it stopped, the people standing before him weren’t people anymore.

The female was still tall, six feet even. Her body seemed to be covered in a light brown layer of fur, even on her face. She had triangular ears on the top of her head that ended in points. Her eyes were large, green, and almond-shaped. Her hair was strait and shoulder-length, and totally black.

She wore a gray bodysuit that seemed to be armored in several places. It covered all but her head and hands. Her nails were silver, and sharp to the point of being claw-like. Behind her, one could see what appeared to be a tail. It whipped back and forth purposely. It was the same brown fur as on the rest of her body, except for the tip, which was the same black as her hair.

One phrase popped into Simon’s head: “cat girl.”

Her short accomplice, on the other hand, was a different story. Standing about four and a half feet tall, his body was covered in light-green scales. His hands had no nails, but hand only three digits. He wore a bright silver jumpsuit, with a black belt around his waist. His feet were exposed through the suit; there were two spread-out toes, with a third, opposable toe out of his heel.

He also had a tail, a thin thing that ended in two digits. His face, however, was the most interesting feature. He had two red, tangerine-sized eyes with a thin line for a pupil that spread horizontally across the orbs. In the center of his pupils was a v-shaped indention. His mouth had two rows of tiny, sharp teeth, with a skinny tongue.

He had no hair on the top of his head, (or anywhere else on his body, but Simon couldn’t know that), but at his forehead, his head branched off into another v-shape. Between the indentations were another set of scales.

Another two-word phrase: “Lizard boy.”

Simon had no doubt what he was seeing: these were aliens. Honest to God aliens.

“Whoa…”

**

The predator ship touched down on Earth, and the pilot stretched his muscles. His quarry was within a two-mile radius; he would soon find them, retrieve the artifact, and return to the home
base. Anything that interfered would be dealt with appropriately.

It was a simple mission.

Comments (0)