A True Story
I was first abducted by a long-haired alien when I was a young bull with no brain between my horns, just having managed to survive the compulsory army camp all Soviet boys had to go through. I was a sitting duck when the she alien landed in my neighborhood.
She was long and svelte, yet short and curvy and her beauty was leaving behind a comet’s trail of hair that could be red had it not been exo-green. She smiled on occasions and cried a lot. Her language was odd and I never tried to understand it more than a never-ending chant. She scribbled little funny dots and lines that looked more like seafood then letters. She smelled of disaster and grapes. Holding her hand was like falling in a crevasse, as our fingers would never want to stay still and the History of the Universe was at crossroads when we were walking together had in hand in that muddy reality. We became stars.
Or did we?
That she alien was slowly absorbing me and taking me into a dimension I couldn’t understood, so I fought back. And back fought I the more, the more she wanted me to slip for good into her uncharted world.
We mingled among students in a huge university cut out of grey stone in the midst of a dark city of two million and soon found our own retreat underground. There was a small window at the pavement level but time itself was mainly night, as fragile creatures visiting our cruel world can’t stand our Sun when playing games of power and desire. We shared a table, a chair, a cupboard and a bed. Had books. Had dreams. Had each other.
In summertime we would go hiding badly in places where anyone could see how beautiful we were. This photo was taken then to serve as a sample on board her mother ship as the experiment progressed.
In our bunker we had a tin pot for brewing coffee, cooking Earth roots and warming water to wash our time travel fluids with. I was hoping for the American bomb to flash us still out of that life and print us together onto the basement’s wall. She hoped for her I-never-knew-what.
One day she was gone.
The abduction was over and I dropped to the floor. Almost dead, yet safe from her witchcraft. I pulled myself together and I learned to forgive and forget. I lived.
I lived perhaps to the edge of my grave only to find out that all this time I’ve been watched, monitored, tested through my soul implants, maybe even loved by that incarnation that’s now nowhere to be seen, yet still holds my life in her beautiful alien palm. Should I fear a second abduction?
