Landing on your Feet

Day twelve of the A-to-Z challenge. L is for Little Green Men, a common depiction of Martians and other extraterrestrials in early Twentieth century science fiction, both straight and satirical.

I had a good life going, until the morning I woke up to find that I was a little green man. My kids thought it was funny, but my wife freaked out when I came down for breakfast. She was just tired, I know. It’s hard to get any sleep when a flying saucer shines a spotlight through your window at 3 o’clock in the morning.

The boss fired me on the spot. I tried to argue, but the only sounds that came from my mouth were crazy bleep-bloop noises. My skin-tight silver jumpsuit wasn’t up to the company dress code, either. And I was an hour late — but have you ever tried driving a minivan when you’re three feet tall with three spindly sucker-tipped fingers on each hand? My sunglasses wouldn’t even fit on my freakish watermelon head.

Until I became one, I never appreciated how hard things are for little green men. Did you know that their jumpsuits are dry clean only? The laundromat destroyed my only set, and not even the clothes on the children’s rack at Walmart fit my misshapen torso. Plus, you wouldn’t believe how many jerks walk up and ask me to say “they’re always after me lucky charms!”

So there I was, a middle-aged man, suddenly out on the street with no house, no wife, no job. Nothing but the scaly green ectoderm on my back, and a rod-shaped probe thingy. I still don’t know how it works, but it makes a halfway decent backscratcher.

Since I mutated into a little green man, life has been rough, but it’s not all bad. I recently found a job at the carnival: terrible pay, but all-you-can-eat corn dogs. I’m saving up a little money for a vacation to Zeta Reticuli this summer. I even have my eye on this girl… right now she doesn’t know I exist, but one day I know I’ll sweep her off her feet.

Life can really throw you for a loop sometimes. If my experience has taught me anything, it’s that you just have to roll with it, and land on your feet. Even if they’re hideous green crow-feet with talons.

The Date the Earth Stood Still

A Flash Friday! two-fer. The prompt was girl next door, along with this CC2 photo by Scott Ableman.

“Why so glum, Kelsea?” her manager asked as he wiped down the high top tables.

“I’unno.” she sighed, leaning against the bar during the mid-morning lull. “I guess I just thought Washington would be more exciting.”

“Exciting? Kid, we have power players coming through every day. That ain’t exciting enough for ya?”

She shrugged. “They never notice me. Except Half-Caff Soy Latte who complains that I’m too slow.”

“What about that saucer?” he nodded toward the South Lawn, where the shiny metallic disk still stood motionless near the White House on its three spindly legs. “That’s pretty exciting.”

“It’s just sitting there. Besides, any aliens are gonna talk to the President. I’ll never even see any little green men.” It took her a minute to realize that her boss’s gaze was fixated out the window. A creature approached, short, green-skinned, with a bulbous head and tentacles.

The alien being entered the coffeeshop, followed at a distance by soldiers, Secret Service, reporters, and awed onlookers. Its mouth tendrils trembled as it waddled up to Kelsea’s register and stared at her with bulging black eyes. Then it spoke in perfect English.

“Hi. I’ve seen you around, and… would you go out with me?”

Bill Collector

An entry for Flash! Friday vol. 2-24. The prompt is “Include an unpaid bill”.

Three spindly fingers wrapped around the doorknob. “Greetings, human.”

The visitor was a young blonde with a clipboard. “Hello, Mr. Medlin! Lightfoot Desert Automotive has sent me here to collect your auto loan payment.”

Qwerksgwridel gave her a bug-eyed glare. “My name is Qwerksgwridel. You seek my neighbor across the street.” He pointed a slender finger toward the mail drop.

Oblivious to his bulbous green head and glittering jumpsuit, she scratched out the name on her paperwork and wrote ‘Qwerksgwridel’ in pen.

“Mr. Qwerksgwridel, you are significantly in arrears. Will you make a payment by cash or credit card?”

“My species takes no interest in your ears, and I possess no Earth currency.”

She faked a smile. “Lightfoot Desert Automotive understands how difficult unemployment can be. However, we will repossess your vehicle.”

Qwerksgwridel glanced at his Brixillian intergalactic combat cruiser in the driveway. He smiled at the bill collector. “Good luck, Earth creature.”