So I write when I'm bored. This is usually in the summer, while I'm stuck in jobs that require no real mental activity. I usually post them on FaceBook and other miscellaneous places on the Intarweb, and most of them find their way to SBE. Here's the most recent one. (NOTE: Some items- namely, the references to "Authority"- in the story reference previous short stories, which I'll compile later in a PDF as "The Authority Chronicles" or something like that. Each story, however, can stand on its own, so you're not missing anything vital coming into this one.) Constructive criticism and comments are greatly appreciated.
CRASH LANDINGS RESULTING IN DUTIES THRUST UPON FLESHBAGS
It was an overcast, entirely ordinary day. Jim navigated a path through a field on his way back home from work. Sometimes he wished for a car, but every time he noticed an increase in gas prices, he appreciated his walks home a little more.
He had caught himself staring at a piece of garbage, a rain-damaged, tattered comic book. Green Lantern, or Green Arrow, or something like that. There was a time he would have known, and would have been able to ramble off an origin story and a lengthy history and the names of notable artists and writers of the character. But that was another time, back before he, like most prepubescent males make the difficult decision between fantasy magazines and females. Jim chose the latter. As shallow as it was, acceptance was sometimes more important to him than what he really wanted.
Lost in what was and what could have been, he was snapped back to the present when he heard something explode nearby, accompanied by the ground shaking under him. Jim looked up and pulled the speaker buds from his ears, only to see smoke billowing from...well, from something a few hundred yards off; there was a major highway nearby, so he figured it was probably some sort of big truck.
He had taken a lifeguarding class at the Y a year ago (at the insistence of an ex-girlfriend); at the very least, if anyone was hurt, he could provide some bastardized form of CPR before the medics arrived.
Upon arriving at the site of the crash, however, he realized that he was very undertrained for what he saw. The wreckage itself was too large to be any sort of truck, and it was far from any sort of plane or helicopter that he had seen before. His childhood experience with comic books was nagging him, telling him that it was exactly what he didn't want it to be; before he could stop himself, however, he felt his mouth form the word:
"Spaceship."
A shrill, inhuman cry broke his trance. He rushed toward the twisted chunks of what could only be some sort of space metal, following a series of yells and moans until he saw someone...something moving. He kept towards it, slowing a little when he got a glimpse of what he assumed had piloted the now-twisted and burning wreckage. The thing was pink and hairless, resembling what a man-sized infant with a horrible eating disorder might look like.
The wounded alien called out again: "MONGOOSE!" Jim moved closer as to hear better; "mongoose" couldn't have been right at all. "MONGOOSE KEY LAMP OLIVE DOLLY!" it screamed, now louder, as it had noticed Jim approaching.
Jim realized there was no turning away now, no backing down without feeling like a douchebag, so he moved closer, straining to make sense of the star man's ramblings.
"TOY COW CHALK AHEAD MOTOR INDIA!" The thing shouted, signaling for Jim to come closer, but upon noticing Jim's puzzled expression, it used what looked like his final reserves of strength to press a small button near its collar.MY NAME IS EDDIE AND THIS IS MY STUFF
"Human," it strained. Jim was now only a few feet away; he knelt down next to the downed pilot. "Human," it repeated, "I am Trax'lr Gu'x of Kandlar Eight. Your thoughtwords are difficult for my transistorlator to run through my thinkspot, so I will hurry." Jim, by this point, had fully succumb to his instinct to help this stranger in need and was tearing his shirt sleeves into long, bandage-like strips to stop the blue-black blood from gushing from this injured stranger. Trax'lr stopped him. "Your efforts are appreciated, human, but my wounds are beyond your ability, let alone your comprehension. You must help in another way. Can you?" Jim, half hearing Trax'lr, nodded while digging through his bag for an extra shirt or a jacket; this alien may be dying, but Jim was going to be damned sure it was comfortable on its way out.
"Nearby is a cubeform." Trax'lr wearily lifted a finger, pointing to a nearby brush, under which Jim could barely make out something metallic and box-shaped. "Said cubeform," it continued, wheezing a little, "contains a message of warning. The Science Chiefs of Authority have discovered-" "Trax'lr coughed and sputtered more. "They have discovered a flaw in your planet's Psy-Gogue Fields. Take the cubeform to your magistrate or emperor or high priestess. It is most urgent." And in that moment, the body went limp, and Jim knew that those had been Trax'lr Gu'x's final words.
Not ten seconds later, however, the situation took a turn for the stranger; the larger pieces of the ship had began disappearing. Not disolving,nor breaking off into bricks and flying into space, nor melting. They simply faded away, like you'd expect in a low-budget made-for-television science fiction movie. Eventually, after everything else had gone (including the awful burning smell, as strange as it was), Jim noticed Trax'lr fading away like the ship had. He wanted to compare the moment to some movie he had seen, maybe one of the Star Trek ones, but he could be wrong; that was a long time ago, and that very moment wasn't the one to be dwelling on the past.
At first, still on a rush from doing what he believed was the right thing, decided to go to the press, to the mayor, to the army, to pass on the word.
But that notion was quickly dissolved, just as any evidence of the last five minutes of Jim's life had dissolved. Everything was gone; who would believe him now?
Jim, unsure of what to believe now, packed up his backpack and his tattered shirt and continued home, promising himself a beer upon his arrival.
He didn't even look back at the bushes for the box.MY NAME IS EDDIE AND THIS IS MY STUFF
*head cocked* Interesting."Never hold your farts in. They travel up your spine and into your brain, and that's where you get shitty ideas from." - Unknown
that is an amazingly realistic ending. i appreciate it greatly, as i think Jim does what most ppl would do. i know i would probably take the box, but never do anything with it. hehehe. well done!Mal: Well look at this..appears we got her just in the nick of time what does that make us? Zoe: Big Damn Heroes! Mal: Ain't we just.