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EVERYBODY KNOWS SPACE ALIENS ARE GREEN
by Andrew Dunn
EVERYBODY KNOWS SPACE ALIENS ARE GREEN
By: Eddie Beanbags
“Everybody knows space aliens are green.” All the ones Joseph
had ever seen on the television in the living room were green. Why
wasn’t this one?
Joseph played sick so mom wouldn’t send him to school that day.
After dad headed out the door to work and mom waddled three doors down
to see Edna Shapiro, Joseph hefted him from upstairs to the basement.
“Joseph,” mom called out after she’d made her way from the
kitchen to the stairs, “have you been sick?”
The sludge! Pink and white and bubbly and chunky. It smelled
vaguely of breakfast and burnt rubber. Glops of it made a path from
Joseph’s bedroom closet to a nook down in the basement.
“Um it’s okay mom.” Joseph called out as the mass of tissue and
ooze writhed about underneath a shelf of jellies and preserves. It
wasn’t okay though. Joseph knew that. The thing he’d found in the
woods two days ago after the meteor slammed into the ground was the
size of a beach ball now. It was changing too. Almost the way the
caterpillars in science class changed into butterflies except the
thing wasn’t in a cocoon.
“Why are you in the basement?” Mom asked. “You’re sick. You
need to be in bed.”
“Um, I came down here,” Joseph’s eyes darted over the basement
looking for an answer, “to wash my clothes.”
“Don’t be silly,” mom said as she started down the stairs, “get
back upstairs and back in bed. You’re sick.”
The steps creaked one by one as mom made her way into the
basement. In a matter of seconds, if Joseph wasn’t careful, she’d be
face to face with...with...
Well, what had been the size of a beachball was now almost
oblong and erect, standing in a pool of its own slush. If it grew
much taller it would smash through the shelf of jellies and preserves.
And Joseph didn’t see anything anywhere in the basement he could
throw over the thing to hide it.
“What are you doing down here young man,” mom said as she came
off the last step, “look at you!”
Joseph looked down at his shirt and pants. They were saturated
in that pink and white goo the thing had shedded on the way to the
basement. The goo it wasn’t shedding anymore. As best Joseph could
tell from the corner of his eye, the thing was solidifying. Hardening.
“I was going to wash these.” Joseph answered.
“Why don’t you leave your filthy clothes down here,” mom said,
“and I’ll wash them. Then you can go up to bed and rest.”
Mom said it and that was that. Things were past the point of
argument. Joseph started to ease out of his soiled clothing while
hoping mom didn’t notice the thing changing by the second underneath
her canned fruits.
“Oh my,” mom exclaimed, “I thought we’d lost this.”
“Lost what mom?” Joseph asked.
“Well,” she said as she started walking across the concrete
floor, “back when you were a baby your father picked this up at
a second-hand store.”
Mom eyed the thing standing beneath her shelf of jellies and
preserves. Light green. Looking a lot like a tiki doll complete
with legs and arms and a torso and a grin that hovered somewhere
between comical smirk and menacing grimace.
“Mom,” Joseph muttered.
“At first I thought this was,” Mom went on, “a little
unsightly. But your dad insisted.”
“Mom,” Joseph tried again.
“So he put this statue out in the garden,” mom said on, “and
while I worked on my tomatoes and roses you just loved him Joseph.”
“Mom,” Joseph said.
“What is it Joseph?” Mom answered.
“Everybody knows space aliens are green,” Joseph ventured.
“Well,” mom furrowed her brow.
dandrew72 - r.tornello, point taken. If I re-do this one I'll have to strengthen the ending or maybe rearrange it. Thank you for your comment - Andrew Dunn aka Eddie Beanbags
r.tornello - I must be slow, but I'm missing the punch line here.
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