Someone Else's Problem

An absurd mini-"adventure"

Content notes: Flash fiction, ~1k words, uh… silly.

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When I first awoke that day, everything was perfectly mundane. The pillow that was usually cradled between my legs had been kicked off the bed in the night, dragging the blanket toward the floor and entrapping my legs, my mouth felt like cotton, and my left boob was hanging out the side of my tank-top. All totally normal inconveniences.

I reached for my phone on the bedside table, overestimating how far I could lean with my legs still twisted up. I slid off the side of the bed and knocked my phone behind the table. Ouch. Sigh.

There I was, on the floor, both titties released from their thin-strapped containment, wrestling myself free of my own bedding— when I heard the high-pitched voice.

“Hi there! I’m Be—“

I screamed and clutched the blanket to my chest. What the fuck. What the fuck?!

“What the fuck!?”

There was an 8 inch tall thing standing right near my feet. I bent my legs quickly and punted the bastard as best as I could with my limbs still bound. It worked pretty well— sucker went right out the bedroom door, which I promptly slammed and locked.

Holy shit. I eyed the blue bottle of sleepy-time juice that sat half empty on the nightstand. Half full— I’m an optimist. And perhaps hallucinating?

I shuffled the girls back into combat position and extracted myself from the bedding to locate pants. Problems felt more solvable in pants.

With the leg covering equipped I was finally becoming coherent enough to have thoughts longer than three words. There’s a goddamn alien creature in my house. Ohmyfuckinggod.

Last time the blue drink made me fall asleep sitting up, eyes half open and rambling out loud about taking the kids in the wagon to paint the roof. I really felt like I was there, dragging a radioflyer over the shingles while the little girls giggled. But I don’t have kids, a wagon, or even a shingled roof— not to mention my lifetime ban from the paint department at the hardware store.

If my head could make that up, it could probably make up an alien.

Tap-tap-tap.

Teeny tiny knocks on my bedroom door. Am I asleep? I pinched my arm, it hurt a little. I bet I could dream that too. I gave myself a sharp slap to the cheek. Ouch. Yea, awake for sure. Which doesn’t actually rule out medication induced hallucinations.

So my reality testing was not very helpful. I ignored the door and instead went to get my phone from behind the nightstand. When in doubt, the internet has answers. And conspiracy theories, which can be pretty neat.

The internet did not have a lot of optimistic perspectives on aliens, honestly a lot of it seemed incredibly irrelevant to my situation. I ended up down a rabbit-hole that involved saving a list of History Channel shows to watch later. Surely they’d have some reputable information.

It was around then that I noticed the rapping on the door hadn’t continued. Little shit is probably in the vents or something. It’s never this easy in the movies. I couldn’t quite decide what kind of movie I was in, but video clips from Alien were now fresh in my mind. It was a bit funny to think of the creature that was smaller than a book having a smaller, yet more threatening, second mouth. But this was too serious to be laughing about comically small mouths.

I opened the bedroom door to find the hallway empty. When I turned back toward my room, there he was. Standing on my desk, looking like an adorable real-life version of Toad. A little bitty mushroom guy. A cutie-patootie living toadstool.

Oh no— that’s how they get you.

It was clearly a trap. A ruse. Nothing is that cute. The only things with the audacity to even present themselves so adorably are things that definitely want to lull you into a false sense of security before they eat your guts. Nuh-uh, not me sir. Can’t get shit past me.

“Hi!” It squeaked cheerfully; its wide eyes seemed to bore directly into my soul.

I closed my eyes and pointed a threatening finger toward it, “Get out! I’m not equipped to deal with this!”

“Oh! Dear human, you misunderstand—“

“Aht! Aht! No. I’m not getting brainwashed today, thanks but no thanks, bud.”

“I’m not here to hurt you! I’m Berrymore, I need your help!” He shrieked.

So, it was manipulation, eh? Well I wasn’t going to just walk myself to his dinner table, now was I?

“Shhhhh— just— just shut up… you.” It sounded less pathetic in my head, I can’t help that I’m a bit bitchmade. This bitch is alive to tell the tale, so it’s cool.

I grabbed a random Walmart tote off the floor and scooped the creature into it real quick-like. It probably looked really smooth, like when a ninja cuts the top off a bottle. That’s how it felt, even though my heart was pounding. I might have prayed to a god I don’t believe in for a moment— just to make sure I didn’t contract an alien illness. That’s also how they get you.

He didn’t struggle too much when I tied up the bag, but he sure did yap the whole way as we drove to our destination. Please stop! I’m just Berrymore! I’m really just here for adventures and stuff! I’m just a whimsical creature from a magical realm! Really, just all the things you’d imagine that an alien might say to gaslight you into letting yourself get eaten.

We made it to the fire station, luckily the street around it was empty. I don’t think I could’ve handled any questions after wrestling the struggling sack of alien into the safe haven box.

I drove away after that, finally able to go home and remove the pants that had held the entire mission together. I’m not getting eaten today, let the government deal with it.

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This post was made for a prompt by

Lady Of The Lake

and motivated by the influence of

Happy Nielsen