Rocking Aliens [FICTION]

Who knew I would make it to center stage with a drummer at my back and guitarists flanking me on either side? I didn’t when I stumbled out of my bedroom, sleepily singing the song that popped into my head upon awaking. My roommate never warned me when her friends were coming over, so why would she tell me her band would be working on a new song on a Saturday morning? 

As I realized I was the center of an impromptu concert, my mouth slammed closed. I sucked down a scream as my tongue got caught between my teeth. I gazed at my unexpected audience in petrified fear. They gazed back at me in surprise. Lon, who happened to be my roommate Terry’s boyfriend and the band’s lead guitarist, grinned at me.

“I think we found that new sound we’re looking for,” he nodded his head sagely as he continued to stare at me.

My roommate and I shared an incredulous look, but with the drummer and rhythm guitar backing Lon’s assessment, we got outvoted. I have a feeling Lon would have said I didn’t get a vote unless I joined the band had the vote gone the other way. So here we are at center stage. I sing my heart out to a capacity crowd, forgetting the years of being told to sing lower so no one could hear me. I just needed the right sound and the right backup. 

As I paused to take a sip of water between songs, I looked out over the crowd, reveling once more in the cheers and smiles of appreciation. As my eyes fixed on a little old lady who had to be there with her grandchild, a circle of greenish light spotlighted her. My water bottle dropped at my feet, spilling its contents on my platform shoes as she hovered off the ground and rose up into the air. I followed her progress until she disappeared into a giant metal disc in the sky. I gasped and roved my eyes over the crowd, realizing this one fan wasn’t the only one selected to see the stars. 

“What do we do?” Lon asked as he sidled into my space.

I glanced at Terry. She shrugged.

“Channel my aunt Maggie?” I suggested.

She cringed, which I took as agreement given the situation. I turned my microphone back on and turned to face the crowd, most of whom remained oblivious to the danger hovering over our heads.

“I am so sorry for what our ears are about to experience, but hopefully it saves our lives,” I nodded to Terry and leaned into the microphone.

As I performed my best imitation of Aunt Maggie singing along to her favorite country love ballad, extra twang crept into each word. Terry followed a step behind with her own off key warble. Lon and Tom stared at us in confusion as a laser show from overhead took down a drone that flew too close to our unwelcome concert attendees. The confusion mirrored on the faces of our fans turned to terror at the first burst from above. Then panic sent them racing for the exits, except for a few more who were traveling on beams of light to an uncertain destiny.

I launched into my next heartrending throwback song. As this tune twanged across the thinning crowd in the amphitheater, something stirred above us. I looked up but doggedly kept belting out my song. The ships hovering in midair seemed to be about to move. I sang louder and further off key as I realized how foolish my decision to remain at center stage truly was. Then green beams of light alighted on the stage around me. Terry screamed and disappeared backstage. Lon and Tom forgot to provide backup as we all stared up at the beams of light. My voice cracked and faded out as people began descending around me. Their return took less time than their ascent as the ships hovering overhead launched themselves back toward the Earth’s atmosphere.

The microphone dropped from my bemused grasp as the returnees shook off their own shock and slowly stepped toward me. Soon trembling arms enveloped me as hoarse voices found enough strength to thank me. I took this all in stride as I returned hugs and joined in glances heavenward to watch the ships disappear. As we held each other close, our eyes continued to creep heavenward to reassure ourselves the invaders were not returning to fulfill their goal.

After a while, the returnees released me. Tom and Lon stepped closer and joined me in repeatedly searching the skies above. Finally, we took the risk that my vocal stylings had sent them scurrying back into the stars and went in search of Terry. We found her cowering in our dressing room with tears streaking the heavy makeup on her pale cheeks. She looked up at us, wiping away a tear with the back of her hand as she turned hopeful eyes to me.

“Did Aunt Maggie save us?” The light faded a little from her eyes as she scanned our faces. “Or have you come to take me to our new overlords?”

“We have to watch better shows,” I muttered as I opened my arms toward her.

She stepped into them and buried her face in my shoulder, “So everything turned out okay?”

“As far as we know,” Lon stepped forward to rub her back.

“As far as we know,” Tom repeated, looking up toward the ceiling as if to check again that the aliens have not returned.

Purloined Pants [FICTION]

A muffled chortle pulled me out of a rather pleasant dream. I rolled over and stretched luxuriously. I felt more refreshed than I had in a long time until the noise manifested again. Muffled giggling drew me to the window. As I drew back the curtain, I gasped in surprise. Standing outside my window, my favorite pants hug the hips of someone besides me. As I looked into her familiar face, she lowered the eyelid of one of her dark eyes.

“Seriously,” I grumbled, opening the window and climbing over the sill.

“Eek,” she exclaimed and started running down the street.

“Sienna, come back here with my pants,” I called out, already breathless as I started my pursuit.

We thumped along half a block, sending a couple dogs out for their morning walk into choruses of barking. Curse words followed as windows slammed in our wake. Then Sienna’s luck ran out. My lovely, pink polyester hiphuggers stopped hugging her hips and took a dive for the pavement under her feet. In so doing, they tangled around her ankles and she pitched forward. The thing about Sienna in my pants was that she has always been about half my size, so it was a miracle she ran as far as she did before they foiled her escape.

I barely stopped myself from joining her facedown in front of my neighbors. As I reached her, I slowed down and knelt beside her. “I bet you’re glad you kept your own pants on.”

“A little bit.”

“So why did you decide to sneak into my house and steal my pants?”

She giggled again. Then she hiccuped. But the burp made me painfully aware of where she looked to make decisions this morning. I sighed and helped her up. Luckily, neither she nor my pants seemed injured.

“Come on,” I said. “You can sleep it off at my house.”

“My hero.” She giggled again, leaning on me as I nodded apologetically at all the neighbors who had come out to view our walk of shame.

“Nice pajamas,” my elderly neighbor winked at me as I guided Sienna up my stairs.

Looking down, I blushed and picked up speed, dragging my friend and my nighttime attire out of sight.

Tricked Again [FICTION]

Another day. Another internet search. My search turned up zero results, so nothing should have happened. I didn’t even click away from the search engine because I hadn’t decided where to go next in my quest for answers. Yet a pop up appeared on my screen, promising that some undefined power would grant me three million dollars if I decided to give into bad decisions and click that suspicious and unsolicited link in the next thirty seconds.

I laughed and moved my cursor to close the window and run a virus scan. Before the mouse started to move, the lights in my room went off and plunged the room into darkness. The screen remained illuminated. Now numbers counted backwards from thirty. I tried clicking again. The cursor turned into a a laughing emoji.

I frowned and resorted to my old standby: Ctrl, Alt, Delete. The countdown stopped to be replaced by gothic red letters, dripping like blood:

“Bella, You Are No Fun!”

I grumbled in annoyance and stormed out of my room to pound on my roommate’s door. As the door stood wide open, I walked in and berated him. Apparently, that was the response he hoped for because he dissolved into hysterical laughter on the floor. I rolled my eyes and returned to my own room to resume my own sane forms of entertainment after removing his fun little program from my hard drive.

~~~

Seems like more a tale for April 1st, but you get it today. My former roomie who would probably conceive such evil manifestations has a birthday this month, so it tracks.

School Strife [FICTION]

 With the school year barely started, a strange tension filled the halls. The town’s famed architect Walton Walters himself would have never foreseen what would unfold in the high school bearing his name. For the first couple of weeks, settling into a new routine, new classes, and newly forced associations kept the building animosity from boiling over. Then the first pep rally of the year pulled the pin from the grenade.

“Our team captain and quarterback who will lead the Wizards to victory this season, Jason Lucas.”

Jason Lucas stepped to the center of the gymnasium floor to loud applause as the senior class president offered this introduction. He threw both arms up in the air like a goal post. Then he waved his hands upward and the student body obliged with louder cheers and a few whistles. Before he could tune them up again, a teacher stepped forward and claimed the microphone with a squeal. The overhead lights gleamed off of his bald dome as he wetted thin lips and placed them closer to the microphone.

“Sadly, Mr. Lucas will be riding the bench until he brings up his history grade.”

The last of the cheers and burgeoning excitement died at these words. The entire school stared at Mr. Lawrence. Most didn’t realize their mouths gaped open with shock. The majority of the teachers nodded agreement and understanding. The principal looked stricken. Jason’s face flushed red and he swallowed hard against a lump in his throat.

The crowd erupted in jeers. Items flew through the air, causing teachers and students to dive for cover. Mr. Lawrence didn’t dive fast enough to avoid an apple and a bottle of soda. The former promised him a black eye by the morning while the second exploded all over him. He frowned and looked around for the guilty parties, but too many angry faces glared back at him and he fled for safety.

Police arrived quickly since half the local force attended most pep rallies to support family members. The other half were just down the street at the station, since their small town usually resisted excitement. Today resistance gave way to chaos and the beanbag guns and tasers came out to calm down irate students and defensive school staff. Thankfully, the pep rally closed the Friday school day before game weekend, so most of the students were easily diverted to their buses and thus became the responsibility of their parents. A couple, who refused to be calmed down, got to sit in interrogation at the police station, so the police officers could let them sweat enough to reconsider a life of crime or subversive protest.

~

The next day found the whole town gathered at an impromptu Saturday school board meeting. The superintendent wiped sweat from him brow though the air conditioning pushed a harsh chill into the room and most other attendees shivered or pulled cardigans and jackets tighter around their shoulders. With every speaker that approached the podium to express their opinion for or against keeping their star player from leading the team to victory, more perspiration coursed down his face. He thanked each speaker politely, regardless of their stance, and then raised his water glass to his lips to perpetuate the cycle of fluids through him. Finally, the last speakers stepped forward.

Coach Tanner joined Mr. Lawrence at the podium. They nodded politely to each other and then began a discourse while people nodded along with the stance they most agreed with.

“We must uphold the educational standards of our fine school. Sadly, Jason failed his first test, so he didn’t even come close to those standards,” Mr. Lawrence explained with an apologetic glance toward the Lucas family at revealing this information.

“But the first game is tomorrow. We need Jason to play,” the coach implored. “Perhaps if you gave him extra credit?”

“You think I have time to come up with and grade extra credit for every student?"

“No,” confusion marred the larger man’s face. “Why would you?”

Mr. Lawrence’s lips raspberried as he forced a sigh past them. “Because if he gets extra credit, I have to make it available to everyone.”

No light dawned in the coach’s eyes, “That will help them all succeed, won’t it?”

“It will help them succeed at not bothering to learn it the first time.”

A roar of defiance erupted from some of the gathered students. Both the coach and history teacher looked up in surprise and fear. Then the spitballs started flying. The superintendent slid under the table on a trail of his own perspiration. Parents tried to restrain their children and teachers raced for the exits. 

The school librarian raced for the microphone. Her normally serene voice rose as she shouted for peace and quiet and a show of good faith by allowing Jason Lucas to lead his team to victory in a few short hours. No one heard, or at least they didn’t acknowledge her.

As more spitballs rained down all around her, she gave up ground and joined her coworkers as they fled to the safety of the halls of Walton Waters High where they ruled supreme and children cowered at the threat of homework, suspension, and being held back a year. The art teacher pulled out rulers and clay-shaping tools to use as weapons. The shop teacher went to work refitting a potato gun to shoot larger ammunition—used textbooks. 

They worked into the night, sleeping in shifts on the mats in the gymnasium as students took their own shifts of heckling and declaring the school no longer in charge of them. When Monday morning dawned, the students arrived, unsatisfied with their forfeiture of the first game of the season on Saturday night. They arrived with backpacks loaded with heavy items that made their shoulders sag just as much as the miserable start to football season. As these two warring factions meet at the gates of learning, who will emerge victorious?

~~~

So this post is so very very late because my children brought a virus back from school. As I am still expected to fulfill all my cleaning and cooking obligations, I did not bounce back as quickly as my little cuties but I have found time to proofread and post at last. Let the peasants rejoice!

I Did It [FICTION]

I grumble as the phone rings. 

“I won’t answer it.”  I declare to the my ceiling, but I know I am lying. (The ceiling probably knows, too.)

I put down the pile of papers I am sorting to pick up the phone before it rings one more time and whisper “Yes?” To the blocked number.

“I know what you did.” A tinny voice replies, ending the call before I can respond.

Stifling another grumble, I garner as much self control as I can to place the phone gently on my desk and return to work. Deep down, I want to throw the phone or crawl through the receiver and curse at the caller. I know what I did. I know it appears wrong, but I know my reasons. I sigh and push it out of my mind. Two weeks of these phone calls, and I still can’t ignore them or their implications. 

I spend the rest of the day fighting back memories so I can get work done. By the time my workday ends, my head throbs and my soul just wants to hide in sleep.

Another week of this torture passes. Sleep becomes harder to sink into. I can’t focus whether at work or trying to relax at home. My last nerve finally snaps.

“Fine. I did it.” I scream at the person on the other end of the phone. “I kissed my best friend’s boyfriend, so he would break up with her thinking we would get together.”

They laugh maniacally and then the call disconnects. Moments later, I get a request for a video call from my best friend. I take a few deep breaths to calm myself before answering.

“Hi, Candy.” I force a smile, hoping her kids will distract her from the frustration still brewing under my surface.

“Hey. Glad you finally confessed, so we can move on.”

“What?” My chin drops to my chest. “It was you?”

“No one knows you better than me. Even when you try to keep a secret from me.” She grins.

“You aren’t mad?”

“Heck no. Thanks for distracting that loser while I got my head on straight.”

The weight that has been pressing down on me all summer finally evaporates with those words. “So…dinner tomorrow?”

“Yep. I’ll bring the ice cream.”

“Just don’t bring any losers.”

“Nope. Just the best for you from now on.”

We laugh together and my heart finally relaxes as we end the call.

~~

I was clearly a little sassy when I wrote this. Probably never a good idea to kiss your best friend’s guy even if he is a loser though…