122 Words regarding:
You get off work at the coffee shop at 5:45 and walk thirteen blocks back to your flat where you’ve been receiving mail addressed to the previous tenant, someone your age, sex, and same first name, for the last four years. You’ve even answered some of it. You have, in fact, as far as magazine subscriptions and junk mail goes, become this person. When you arrive home today, there’s a flotilla of gloss black limousines blocking the street to your building. Neighbors are hanging out of windows, clogging the sidewalk. As your foot falls gently onto the very first step, a man in a Brooks Bros suit walks out the door and reaches for your hand, a nervous smile on his face. He says:
"We've come to take you home, back to the Mother Ship. Of course, for the sake of the Earthlings we have all come disguised as tax collectors from their government. So, pretend to be frightened and overwhelmed while we pretend to take you away against your will." He smiles, showing really pointy teeth.
My stomach flops down into my shoes. "But... I'm not an alien." I gasp.
"Yes, great... Keep up the act but don't mention aliens. The Earthlings still think we're all just science fiction remember." He takes my arm and leads me to the biggest of the cars. I see really weird looking creatures inside. Some of them are slobbering. This can't be good.
1 comment:
Creepy! I shall immediately stop opening the previous tenant's mail. :)
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