This was fun to write, flowed pretty well, and I am quite happy with how it came out, especially compared to the last post's work which I presented mostly as a means to get me writing after a considerable break.
Hope you like it! This is definitely not getting anything more written from it. There's already way too much stuff in the Long section I've let the dust gather on. Have yourself a lovely day, and enjoy reading!
Harold by Mac Clevinger, July 20, 2017
“My dear friend, it is in great malady that I write to you this day, on matters pertaining to the cause of my sudden and terminal condition. To be succinct, an object of some size struck me late last night as of my writing this, and I am afraid that I have used the last reserves of strength to recover myself to my recent place of habitation to write this note for your comfort.
They will say it was an accident, and by some respects it was, but a natural incident of terrible results this was not. Of course, my death is a terrible result, but that is neither the full breadth of the implications of my assault nor was it an incident constrained by bounds we would call ‘natural’. This is not to say that I was murdered by a cold, insidious force, but that I was struck much as the doddering old fool is run down on a highway.
It was not a burnt mound of rock spawned by a passing asteroid’s entourage getting caught by our planet’s far-flung nets, but an object of another’s design. For something of that small size to survive our atmosphere intact in filigree and all? A painfully robust construct, one that crashed through my being and has left me to make peace with this odd end to my life.
But it was not artillery. I was skeptical, like many others, to the claims of life beyond our own understanding and knowledge thereof, but in one fell swoop my beliefs have been dashed as rapidly as my life sucked out of me. A creation by hands not of our humanity, but something other; an other that I have seen, and must die the lone holder of this knowledge.
There is little else to tell you of my demise, and so as many a patient lacking their doctor to ease their passing I will recount what memory provides to perhaps bring a tear of remembrance and sorrow to at least one eye, for you and I can both recall the tense occasions that led to my self-exile to such an isolated life as I have led in these woods.
Was it not at college that –
It followed me.”
I stared at the note wide-eyed, simultaneous shocks of sorrow and fear rolling down my spine at the message of my friend’s death and the circumstances that had led to this note being found: buried beneath a body first battered by some great force, and later torn to pieces methodically; the news report likened it to some ritualistic killing or surgical examination. Emotionless, uncaring, and inhuman.
Or, as Harold seemed to think, alien. I stared at the note that had been delivered to me half an hour ago, my eyes roving off the page and towards the open door of my room that led to a darkened hallway and then towards a window admitting the early rays of sunlight and offering no escape in case of a sudden departure. My mind filled the hallway with alien creatures made of claws and sharp blades, then thought of the time and how I needed to be leaving for work.
“For the sake of fuck, how am I supposed to act like everything’s normal after this?”
It didn’t feel like the two realities should coexist; surely now is the time that some invasion should occur and we would all rush to a refugee camp while the military fought off waves of gleaming, alien ships until some truce was called that advanced our society by centuries of scientific progress but was slowly overtaken by the alien culture until a sullen resistance had to fight both the invading alien civilization and the government that wanted to maintain the illusion of peace.
I wasn’t supposed to be handing people their coffee for eight hours on a pleasant spring day with just a touch of wind to keep off the heat of a blue sky and uninterrupted sun. I wasn’t supposed to have a pleasant lunch with friendly coworkers when my estranged friend had been horribly killed. How the hell did I pick up a guy at the bar with that note still in my pocket, the dried blood accusing me from the floor by the bed?
What kind of woman was I, with the fate of the world at stake from alien invaders and proof of the true cause of Harold’s death not ten feet away from me, to enjoy breakfast in bed with David while talking about our siblings and loving-but-overbearing parents?
“They seriously wouldn’t let you be outside of the house after dark until you came back from college? God, they’re still worried I’m going to drink too much and wind up kidnapped into a human smuggling ring, as if anyone would buy this.”
I gestured at myself, body outlined by bedsheets held taut by carefully placed plates of mostly-eaten pancakes, the glasses wisely placed on the nightstand instead of testing the claims made by so many two-a.m. infomercials.
David looked at me quizzically, eyeing me up and down and lifting the corner of a sheet with an inquiring eyebrow as he thought.
“I don’t know, I think you’re worth at least a camel.”
“Ooh, high praise, whereas you…”
I leaned forward, shedding the bedsheets covering me and pulled David’s sheets to look towards his waist as his eyes found a… rounder object of attention. I grinned at the intended effect, and leaned away from him.
“I’d say you’re worth a seagull.”
“What, one seagull?”
I scooted over in bed to rest my head against his shoulder, looking into his eyes and flashing him a smile.
“Hey, I like seagulls… and I think I like you.”
A momentary thrum of nerves ran through me, my eyes searching his for something that would turn a one-night escapade into something more, like… at least a two-night escapade, but preferably something not measured on a day-to-day basis.
He turned his head and kissed me awkwardly on the forehead, trying not to upset me or the plates entering a precarious position after I’d moved both the sheets and myself.
“I think I like you too, Sam. I think I’d like to like you again tomorrow… eight p.m. at Swanson’s, and we’ll go from there?”
I quirked my mouth to one side, biting my lip as I thought over the proposal and tried to keep the elation from showing. It wouldn’t do to let him know how much I looked forward to spending more time with –
I rolled over on top of him, hanging my head inches away from his and looked into his eyes with a smile as my blonde hair fell in a veil around our faces.
“Yes! I would be absolutely delighted to like you again tomorrow, and even more so to go from there, though if your sight is set on seeing where things go so far ahead you may be missing out on where we could be going right now.”
David laughed, flinging his arms around me and sitting up, holding me against his waist through the sheet and shooting a grin towards me that made my heart realize that gymnastics were something it had missed out on as a child, but could certainly learn to appreciate given time and opportunity.
“I was so worried you were going to say no.”
“Why would you ever think that?”
“Some people go to bars only looking for one thing.”
“Why – “
I leaned in, settling my face into a cool expression and whispering into his ear:
“How many have you got?”
The ensuing giggling quieted into activity that lost us the rest of the pancakes, got a bit louder, nearly lost us the drinks, and eventually ended with a very happy Sam walking a very happy David to the sidewalk, where a kiss parted the seagull and the camel with dreams of love hastily drawn on their faces with crayon.
Back in my apartment, I sagged against the locked door, bliss and euphoria stirring within me as I pointedly ignored the slight mess that was my bed and room which contained it. I didn’t have to work for a few more hours, a wonderful man had just walked into, out of, and promised to walk back into my life, and there was nothing that could possibly ruin – wait. Wait. Right. Shit.
“Oh, fuck, an alien killed Harold.”