L. Aliens in the Morning

January 6, 2012 at 9:49 am · Filed under Mostly fiction, Stories ·Tagged aliens in the morning, author, Charles L. Mashburn, cinnamon, http://magicinthebackyard.wordpress.com/2012/01/06/free-write-friday-view-from-the-backseat-scenario/, palm trees, story

This is part six of the continuing saga, The Last Grain of Sand, which I began via a prompt at Bluebell Books’ Short Story Slam several weeks ago. The five previous parts are available by clicking on the links below. This new segment is being posted to  Kellie Elmore’s Free Write Friday. (By the way, Kellie; you’ve forced my hand, and I now believe this will have to go novel; novella at the very least!)

Part six:

L. Aliens in the Morning

I awoke mid-morning with a crick in my neck from sleeping on my back with no pillow. When I opened my eyes, the view out the over-sized tinted moon roof of the stretch limousine I’d spent the night in was one for the books.

Aliens had evidently surrounded me as I slept, and were staring down at me from high above. Their shaggy frond like hair hid the eyes of all but a few, but I knew I was the center of attention of each and every one of them. They either had the longest necks in the world, or they were anorexic and had no arms; strange creatures for sure.

Their eyes—those I could see—were large and pale, but seemed to almost glow as they studied me. Their heads leaned side to side ever so slowly as they glared down at me.

I smiled, thinking it somehow a good thing that my imagination was still intact. After the horrifying events of the last several days, which had left me alone—or so it seemed—in a city that had been home to millions, I was surprised my brain could still function on any level. All things considered, L. Aliens in the morning, was a pretty good way to start the day.

That was another strange thing about the situation; why me? Why out of all the people (I  often referred to them as L. Aliens) who’d been racing around doing the bizarre things people do in Los Angeles was I the lone survivor. At first, I thought it might be the rapture, but that didn’t make any sense. I surely wasn’t among the most devout followers of Jesus—far from it—but I couldn’t imagine that everyone but me had gotten it right. In fact, if you had to get it right, and this was the rapture, the city of L.A. should still be teeming with people.

Don’t get me wrong, I believe in God and the Bible, but let’s just say I hadn’t been a practicing believer for some time, and leave it at that.

I sat up, ran my fingers through my long hair, and wondered what I could find to eat in the clubhouse. In the last few days, as I’d worked my way eastward out of the city, I’d discovered these ritzy country clubs all had emergency solar generators, and therefore a pretty good supply of food in their walk-in refrigerators. The one thing they didn’t have was beds, but there were some mighty cushy rides in the parking lots, so I’d been doing okay in that regard, too.

Stepping out of the limo, I stretched and looked up at a mostly clear sky with just the wisp of a cloud here and there; the towering coconut palms waved gently side to side in the morning breeze.  I grinned, as the coconut’s eyes—eyes of the aliens—stared back at me.

The crack of a rifle shot wiped the grin off my face, and I dove back into the limo.

Copyright © 2012 C. Mashburn

Part one: The Last Grain of Sand

Part two: Hope

Part three: Like a Fairy Tale

Part four: Then There Were Three

Part five: Cinnamon

 

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