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Close Encounters of the Alien Kind

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Have you ever met an alien?

‘What!’ you say whilst trying to disassociate yourself from me in case I’m dangerous.

You’ll be fine, so calm down; anyway I’m not even in the same room as you so there is no need to panic. If I was you’d still be perfectly safe as my mouse and keyboard have no sharp edges. I am also not working for your estranged wife, who is planning to have you committed so she can sell both your car and your house to run off with her personal trainer Eduardo who she swore on her mother’s grave was gay! Neither am I working for your husband who, if that’s the case would see such an admission as a sign that your family’s history of mental illness is starting to surface in you. Did you even think about giving me the reply, ‘I don’t know’, because in truth you may well not? An alien could look like you, me or even your cousin. The one you always had your suspicions about with his beady little eyes and rather abnormally large ears. If they were living amongst us they would obviously be trying to keep the whereabouts of their hometown a secret. In normal circumstances they would not introduce themselves as coming from the clan Kippax in the province of Garj as a character in my novel ‘The Mark of the Gate’ does. I suggest if they did so, it would not be too long before a cell with white padded walls was their new address.

We, as a species, have an uncanny ability to close our minds to the things we cannot understand or are frightened of. Acceptance is not one of our greatest attributes in all areas of life not just extraterrestrial!

You’re in a bar, late at night with only the bartender and a drink or two for company. A man comes in; his arm unknowingly brushes against your back as he walks straight past you. An uneasy feeling now comes over your entire body; you turn around to see him taking a seat in a dark secluded corner. You lift your glass slowly towards your lips and on its arrival take a swallow. Curiosity gets the better of you and encourages a sly glance out the corner of one eye. The man himself is looking rather uncomfortable and very, very hot indeed. There are beads of sweat reflecting in numbers all across his brow. One suddenly breaks free and makes a run for it down the side of his face. Its escape however is soon cut short by the back of a hand. He makes no attempt to buy a drink although he is undoubtedly in great need of one. Then your eyes, for a small moment, meet his but just as quickly you deny any contact and take a sip from your glass once again. He stands up and walks towards you as these words in broken English fall from his tongue ‘Can you help me?’ Before you can reply two men in suits rush into the bar and tackle him down to the ground. After a short scuffle the man is lead away in handcuffs, slightly bruised and battered.

The bartender turns to you and says ‘That’s the forth this week. Illegal aliens, they are killing my business!’

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