Meeting Up
'I never thought I’d be the one left behind', Jess slipped off her red coat and hung it on a coat hook. She stared at it, then at the doughnuts and tea, and then at the comfortably equipped room, before looking at Sam again. 'This is odd. You only know it's a jail because of the bars at the windows.'
'We've been abducted by aliens, taken goodness knows where across the universe, and you think this is odd.'
Jess laughed. 'If it wasn't for the complementary doughnuts, I'd swear this was a Premier Inn!'
Her brother smiled. 'It does look like that and maybe Premier Inn have a deal with Slimming World so no doughnuts! Did you find out anything from your 'cabbie' on the way here?'
'Yeah, they weren't going south of the galaxy at this time of night!' Jess grabbed a doughnut and bit into it, relishing the feel of the jam running down her chin.
'You never could eat a doughnut without making a mess.'
'Where's the fun in that? What do you know?'
'They're obsessed with the colour red.'
'Why?'
Sam shrugged. 'Until we know more, I'd stay mum about our blood colour.'
Jess stopped mid-bite. 'You think...?'
'I don't know what to think.'
The door opened and the jailer came in, this time with a huge strawberry coloured sponge.
Jess looked at her brother. 'They're not re-enacting Hansel and Gretel, are they?'
The jailer put the cake down and bowed. Jess watched his three heads line up to bow in one go.
'Have no fear. We mean you no harm. And soon you'll see your parents.'
The words implanted in the human brains.
'They are well?'
'Yes, Mister Sam. Have something to eat and then we will see them. Then all of you will go to our red exhibition. That colour is rare here.'
Jess finished her doughnut. 'But your skin...'
'Is a cast off skin inherited from my great-grandfather. I'm lucky to have it. Red confers status here. Red is not on our spectrum and Earth has the best variety so we come to you.'
Sam and Jess exchanged wary looks.
The jailer smiled. 'We are reptilian in nature. We don't kill our own.'
'Do you extend that policy to aliens?' Jess tried to smile but failed.
'It depends how helpful you are. You are both blood donors; you will continue, yes? We know how much to take.'
Sam frowned. 'But why take human blood? It won't match.'
'We use it as a dye. Our own blood is no good - it's white. And, yes, we do think it worth crossing the universe for. There are those here longing for a red coat like yours, Jess. So do some harmless aliens a favour and donate. Your parents are.'
Going For A Ride
‘See, Miss Jess and Mr Sam, we told you we wanted your blood as a dye. You’ll donate three times a year as you would do on Earth. No harm done, eh?’
The two humans nodded.
‘And our parents are?’
‘Over in the rest area having their doughnuts and tea, come and see, Mr Sam.’ The alien jailer wobbled his way across the donation room to a separate lounge area.
‘One moment,’ Jess called. ‘There’s something I’d like you to do for me and it will give you another donor too.’
‘Would that be arranging for your strange pal, George The Goth, to come here, Miss Jess? You always have felt sorry for him, haven’t you?’
‘Oh. I forgot you observed us for a while before we came here.’
‘Indeed, Miss Jess. And the taxi, as you call it, is on its way to fetch your friend now. We see it as a rescue mission.’
Jess smiled at her puzzled looking brother. ‘You never did meet George’s mother, did you, Sam? Trust me, our hosts will be doing poor old George a huge favour bringing him here!’
Sam grinned. ‘I’ve never seen an alien shudder before, Jess.’
‘You were lucky, to use your human phrase, not to meet George’s maternal parent,’ the alien said. ‘We don’t want her type here again.’
‘Again?’
The alien studied its enormous feet, all seven of them. ‘We brought George’s mother here years ago, Miss Jess. Didn’t stop talking. Didn’t stop moaning. We couldn’t take her back fast enough. We think it’s why she tried to discourage George from being interested in other worlds. But we agree with your assessment, Miss Jess. George will be better off with us by far and he’s already a blood donor so he should settle in quickly.’
***
‘Are you okay, George? You look shell-shocked. I presume you’ve only just got here?’
‘Jess! You’re alive, you’re okay.’
Jess laughed. ‘Yep on both counts and I’ve still got my red coat, see. Are you okay?’
‘Oh yes, I feel heaps better now I’m away from Mother. She wouldn’t stop talking about you and your family. ’
‘Her reputation for that always did precede her, George. You’d be amazed at how far it got.’
***
An older woman stared at the crater in the middle of the park. The UFO had been seen again. George was missing.
But she knew where he was. She only hoped they were treating him okay.
Leaving Home
You will marry Xtia and count yourself lucky. I want to hear no more of this nonsense about finding yourself.
I swore then my mother would get her wish. She would not hear anything from me again. So I took her keys, her spaceship, and fled. Nobody would think anything of it. There isn't a universe anywhere where the kids don't borrow their parents' transport.
And so I found Earth, discovered the joys of time travelling through human history, and it is the last place my people would come to find me. They won't mix with any inferior species so will assume I will at least uphold that tradition.
Wrong! I do wonder sometimes what the reaction to my fleeing was. There would at least be some well-earned embarrassment. Good! But do they miss me even a bit? I would like to think so but daren’t do so.
Humourless
When going to work is an odd thing to do, you know you're in trouble or shortly will be. And when you are the chief tester of every imaginable practical joke going, trust me, the gags soon wear thin.
There really are only so many times you can sit on a whoopee cushion and find it funny. Children's humour may not change but I have.
I stopped telling people what I do a long time ago. I soon tired of forcing a Cheshire Cat grin every time people said 'oh that must be fun' or other similar banalities. Trust me, there is no limit to crap like that.
But the bosses pay well, I still have a mortgage, and I tell people if I revealed anything, I would have to kill them. They laugh, subject gets changed, and I have a nice time at the pub before going home and watching a documentary on the curse of umbrella making or something like that.
What I don't watch is anything they call funny. Not now. Not anymore. That explains the salary. There should be a price for losing your sense of humour.
I sometimes wonder if I could kill someone with a deflated balloon. And yes I could... so if you know what's good for you, don't ask. They say once someone has killed, they get a taste for it. Best I don't start then.
About the author
Allison Symes, who loves quirky fiction, is published by Chapeltown Books, CafeLit, and Bridge House Publishing. She writes for Chandler’s Ford Today and Writers’ Narrative.
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