Staying In
'There's another one on the news, Ben.'
'Another what, Mum?'
'Don't you watch anything? Another poor sod has been found strangled with a deflated balloon. You be careful out there.'
'Mum, I'm off to the pub with Rob and Steve, as usual. Stop worrying. You should watch out. I at least look like a rugby player. You look as if a strong gust would knock you off your feet these days.'
'I'm not going anywhere.'
***
The knock startled Moira. Bloody Ben's left his key behind again, I bet.
But it wasn't Ben at the front door. The guy looked her own age.
'Who are you? What do you want?'
***
It was just after midnight Ben found his late mother in the hall where she fell. On her face was a red balloon.
Getting The Job Done
She collected specimens, whether they wanted it or not. They didn’t get to argue for long. They didn’t have to be alive for a start. Tell them that and she usually got their co-operation.
So why was this one being so belligerent? She couldn't remember when someone last argued with her. She did know nobody ever got to tell the tale. All she had to do was inform her supervisor there was an awkward one. Everyone back home understood that.
Well, nobody was going to make a dent in her track record. She whipped out a light gun and aimed it at the tiny creature in front of her. It was a stupid looking thing. All fur, floppy ears, and big brown eyes. Goodness knew why the bosses wanted it and then she found out.
The puppy sat, whimpered, and held up a paw. There was a husk of some sort in there.
She put the gun down, gently removed the husk, and was rewarded with a big lick across her three pink noses.
She scooped the pup up in her elongated pink arms. 'Sod the bosses. You're staying with me. Let's find you something to eat.'
The pup squealed and wagged its tail. She smiled. She'd not had anything nice happen for a long time. She'd focused on just getting the job done.
There were going to be changes around here.
Test Pilot
The crash landings were becoming embarrassing. Nobody minded the odd accident. That happened to everyone but this one was going to mean the test pilot, if unlucky enough to survive, would be hauled before the Board of Inquiry.
Like all such Boards, there was a hell of a lot of bureaucracy and paperwork. Unlike most Boards, said bureaucracy was to minute in minute detail what happened to the late specimens who'd faced them.
And this latest Inquiry was going to play to a packed house.
The crash had been spotted by those pests of the universe - humans.
Nobody was going to forget the Board of Inquiry for Roswell.
Mirrored
I know where my doppelganger is. Sadly, they know where I am. They're in the mirror.
Before you say, 'don't be silly, that's your reflection', ask yourself if your reflection has ever reached through the mirror to grab you warmly by the throat before it threw you away as if you were a used tissue.
Well, it's not happening again. I've made sure. I stepped through the mirror, did to my nemesis what they'd done to me (you always return a compliment in full, right?), stepped back through again, and then smashed the mirror. I don't know where it came from but it's not staying here, nor is it harming anyone else.
Don't thank me. It's all part of my fairy godmother duties. And I would stress the godmother bit. Nobody crosses me and gets away with it.
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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