Everyone has heard stories about being abducted by aliens. I mean, who hasn’t. It’s a very popular yarn, and it’s always the same. You’re snatched away and are never heard of again.
Some say that a ray of light shines down on you and up you go. Or the “Hand Of God” snatches you away. Or giant tentacles wrap around you and suck the life out of you.
Since no one really knows what’s going on, you just get wild rumors. Like: You’re going to heaven and will get wings and fly around and meet old friends and lay around on clouds all day. Sounds boring. Another one is you’re going to hell, a hot place where they stick you with pitchforks. Now, that seems just stupid. What’s the point of existence, if you’re just going to be stuck with pitchforks?
Then there’s the idea that we are raised for food. That’s just as stupid as the pitchfork one. If these aliens are so scientifically advanced as everyone believes, they could just push a button and get all the food they wanted. Then we have the “They want to dissect you” business. Well, if that’s true, then they must have dissected thousands of us by now. So, what’s one more going to tell them? I don’t buy it.
An interesting one is that they are going to probe you. You know, sexually. Well, that could be exciting, I mean sexual probing and all. You would never get any of that stuff down here.
You think that it could never happen to you. It’s always the other guy, except when it isn’t.
I was with a bunch of old friends, when WHAM! Out of nowhere, the “Hand of God,” and up I go. Then I’m on a big, flat, plain that stretches as far as my eyes could see. Of course, my eyes are so bad that it could be a little plain that stretches nowhere.
Oh oh! Here comes that hand again, and off I go. Now they’re peeling my clothes off, bit by bit. I hope it’s for sexual probing.
Now they are giving me a bath in a tub of warm water. A little too warm, if you ask me. But hey that’s OK, if it’s for sexual probing. I mean, you want to be clean for that, right?
Oops! I think that somebody has made a mistake. This water is getting pretty damn hot. Wow !
Old Mr. Thompson did the same thing every Saturday night, for ten years, since Sarah had gone. God, has it been ten years, already?
He’d bought a new bag of Russet potatoes and a small steak at Ralph’s Market yesterday. He pulled out a potato and peeled it, then put it in a pan of water and set it to boil. While it was boiling he would make a small salad, then fry his steak. He knew how to make gravy. Put some flour and water in the steak drippings and stir it around. When the potato was done, he would mash it.
He would have his steak and a small salad, with mashed potatoes and gravy for dinner. Just like old times. He ate slowly, thinking about Sarah. He never thought about the potato.