Extraterrestrial Pets 2
Lemme outta here!
Part ONE
A CAPTIVE ALIEN’S PERSPECTIVE (translated):
Oh my.
What has become of me? Why, oh why, have I been imprisoned? What is my offense? Dear, dear, this is quite a predicament.
Who are these beasts, my captors? They’re frighteningly ugly, encased in some kind of hard shell, always chattering. Are they gods?
Was I chosen to be a sacrificial offering to appease these celestial hoity-toits? Why do they need to be pacified? I sometimes get cranky when I don’t get enough sleep. Will everything be better once the gods take a nap?
Hrrgh.
I don’t want to give my captors too much credit. They seem a little too clumsy to be gods. Just brutish, sadistic thugs. Thrill killers, probably. Intergalactic zookeepers, maybe.
Whatever they are, one thing’s for sure: Being placed in a jar is probably not in anyones best interest.
I need answers.
What horrors do these brutes have in store for me?
They don’t seem carnivorous. Their teeth aren’t very pointy. I suppose they could spray some kind of venom that reduces their victims to marinade.
Eew.
Didn’t need to visualize THAT. Can’t get it out of my head now. Need to think of something pleasant. Something, something banal.
Humph. All this worry is exhausting.
My kind, they mostly sleep. So they probably don’t know I was kidnapped. And why would they care? We don’t exactly socialize. We . . . sleep. We sleep and dream dreams of perfection. Wondrously boring perfection. Well, sometimes we dream about sleeping. Sleep to dream of sleep to dream of sleep — on and on like that.
THIS is no dream. This is a waking nightmare.
They shrouded my prison. It’s dark now.
Oh. My. I feel faint.
Dear me, I must have passed out. Still feel a bit woozy.
I guess this is my new holding cell. Curious.
At least it’s larger. But I’m unfamiliar with the world displayed behind its transparent, seemingly impenetrable wall. I BANG my head against it, RAM it, then back up and RAM it again, but it doesn’t break.
Don’t laugh at me, you monsters! And stop staring at me! Stop it! Now!
What do they want? Do they expect me to perform? I can’t even whistle.
They’re talking AT me. But what are they saying? I don’t understand their language. Are they trying to explain my crime? Are they suggesting ways to prepare me as a meal? WHAT?!
Oh, the indignity.
Interesting. I didn’t notice before, but there’s something different about the smallest one. Perhaps it too has been subjugated by the larger ones. It’s expressions indicate discomfort. Do we share the same fate? Could this hideous thing be an ally? It’s obvious the larger, dominant creatures don’t consider the small one a threat. They do allow it to roam free. I want that, too.
How do I form an alliance? There must be a way.
If I have any hope for escape, I must study these beasts. Discover their motives. Learn their language. Uncover their nefarious plans.
Mom? Dad? Floor? Alien? Monitor? What do all these words mean? They sound like nonsense to me.
Total gibberish.
TO BE CONTINUED . . .
ILLUSTRATIONS: Mark Scott Ricketts
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Fun read, and what an interesting voice for the alien!
Ha! Love it. One would think "icky" would be a word known through out the Galaxy.