I woke up in a strange place, a place I didn’t know, and I said “Thank God”. The skies weren’t blue and fluffy like those from cardboard children’s fiction books but they were white. White was never a sign of purity to me, it was the cover-up of existing sin. White was the color they used to portray some sort of innocence, one that could never truly exist, because we were all, in part, impure. But here it meant nothing. It was simply that, just nothing. A vast realm of colorless, meaningless nothing—and nothing was more beautiful than everything once seemed where I came from. I wasn’t surprised when I woke up to flashing lights by my bedroom window—I had heard countless stories and tales of alien abductions although all my colleagues argued that they were some sort of government conspiracy set in place to distract from the real-world issues. But I always believed in the third realm, in the third eye, in the third dimension. So I wasn’t surprised. And in sync, in perfect coordination with the pit-pat of the outdoor rain, those blue, red, and white lights flashed through my floral curtains, casting large but dim shadows against my coral walls. My toes bunched up in their lime-green fuzzy socks as one of my arms shielded my eyes and the other tried to cover both my ears at the same time. There was some sort of painful ringing, so loud that you couldn’t hear it but you knew it was there and that if you listened any longer your skin might just drift off and dance along to the vibrato leaving its skeleton behind. I held still and felt them enter. My eyes wavered under the dancing spirals of artificial sun but the images still came to me, only in blurs. They marched in single file, poised and dignified. I fell in love with each one—each blurry, watery figure. They barely looked like aliens in all honesty, not the kind of green, lanky, one-eyed ugly creatures you see in Hollywood movies at least. They were tall and wide and much more beautiful, not because I could even make out the little details but because they made the little hairs on my arms stand up and my heart calmer than it had ever been. They circled around me, picking at my stringy hair, pulling my thin arms and legs up just to let them go and droop off the edge of my bed-frame. They nodded and mumbled and maybe even spoke to me—words I couldn’t make-out over the ringringringing. And then they carried me like one of their own, holding me tight, raising me above their heads and into the door frame under the bright show of lights. It wasn’t as frightening as the other abduction stories I had heard. They didn’t rape me or plant a chip into my brain; they didn’t dissect me or scar me or put me in a glass chamber. They set me down on a soft surface and didn’t bother to confuse me any more than they had already. Our starship took off as I lay down to rest. I woke up to the world of white, much more of a home than home had ever been. And I didn’t even care if I’d ever make it back to tell them all the story of my so-called ‘alien-abduction’. It was more of a safe return. A safe return to the place I had always belonged to.
Posted on: Tue, 01 Apr 2014 03:37:54 +0000