Monday Evening Snippet

I’m exhausted from traveling, so I’m gonna pull a fast one on you. A really fast one. I’m posting a short excerpt from my WiP, She Came From Earth.

Here’s what you need to know: Lisa and her baby brother Billy Ray have been abducted by an extraterrestrial cyborg Brad Pitt. She’s not sure what they want with her, but she’s figured out why they want Billy Ray: extraterrestrial cyborg Angelina Jolie wants to adopt a real human baby!

Meanwhile, extraterrestrial cyborg Steven Spielberg is busy directing a rip-off of Lost and he’s keeping Lisa nearby because all the cyborg actors want to steal glances at the Real Human Girl.

Lisa’s has had just about enough of all these extraterrestrial cyborg pseudo-Hollywood types, but she’s held captive by two burly Roon Vissars named Rolf and Kevin. Roon Vissars are . . . well, you’ll figure it out.

Lisa was beginning to think Uncle Buddy was right about the world. Buddy had voted Republican since ‘64. He liked to tell folks that Nixon got a raw deal. He kept a bronze bust of Ronald Reagan above the fireplace, bracketing it with miniature American and Confederate flags. She once told him he was a stereotype and he said no, he was more an AM radio kind of guy, and why didn’t she come sit on his lap and he’d sing her some Johnny Cash? Point was, Buddy said you could always tell the truth about a Democrat’s moral fiber because Hollywood movie stars always backed the Democrats, and look at them. Just look at them, with their Malibu drug rehab programs and four-week marriages and shaved crotch photos that showed up on the ‘net where anyone could see them. Lisa would never do that, now, would she? Well, would she?

Based on what she had seen so far, Buddy was right about movie stars. Lying, baby-stealing criminals, best she could tell. She hadn’t made her mind up about the help, though. She wondered what Buddy would make of Rolf and Kevin.

“Is this ever going to end?” she said, mostly because she was bored, but also because she enjoyed chatting with two talking Pomeranians. It was the sort of story you could entertain your grandbabies with, provided they weren’t any older than three, after which they would realize you were talking out of your ass.

“They’ve brought out the low-light cameras,” said Rolf. “This could go on for another hour, maybe more.”

She groaned. “What about dinner?”

“I understand the Chef de Cuisine sent his agents into the hills this morning to trap the local fowl. We’ll be eating off the fat of the land.”

“I meant when.”

“Want another peanut butter and jelly sandwich?” said Kevin.

“Sure.”

He bounded off toward the ship. If he had a tail, he’d be wagging it, she thought. And then she thought about all the other differences between Roon Vissars and dogs, aside from the talking and thinking and walking around on two feet. They could pick stuff up with their hands, for one thing. And they didn’t have dog breath. Their faces weren’t exactly dog faces — maybe more like fox faces. On the other hand, the key grip, Maria, reminded Lisa of a Schnauzer. It was hard to see such prominent whiskers and still think of Maria as a woman, but then, she wasn’t exactly a woman, was she? But she wasn’t a Pomeranian, either. The Roon Vissars apparently had different breeds. One of the cameramen looked like a Cocker Spaniel, and the Assistant to the Director was a handsome black Labrador.

With Kevin temporarily gone, Rolf seemed even more attentive. He kept his hold on her wrist firm but not tight, and he was sniffing her again.

“Stop smelling me,” she said.

“You may as well ask me to stop breathing.”

“Fine. Stop breathing.”

Guess that’s as good a place as any to stop. As I’ve mentioned before (long, long ago), I’ve always disliked aliens which were hard to picture. So there you go. Bipedal, man-sized dogs. Who talk. And like sniffing pretty girls.

D.

Walnut, May 19, 2008. Category: Writer's Life.

About Walnut

View all posts by Walnut