Tentacles

I’m a dead man who shouldn’t have looked up. Shouldn’t have run to the light. Shouldn’t have been so stupid. Not surprising though, because I do dumb shit. But maybe that’s why they took me. They did their research, and I probably aced their making bad choices all the time test.

The room rumbles as if something monstrous is being dragged along a dirt road. It’s a door sliding open, I think, but I can’t see much. I taste darkness so thick it doesn’t seem real. How do I know there’s a door? And where’s the cold air coming from? And why am I not shivering? Footsteps approach, and there’s no way they’re human.

I try to stand, but I’m stuck. Arms glued to something cold and hard. I should be able to use my feet, right? Nope, something’s pinning them down too. Even my neck is stuck, can you believe that? Steel wraps around it like I’m on the world’s most dangerous roller coaster. But I can breathe. Thank God, I can breathe.

Purple pigeons with baby shoes, staring at electric. Oven mitts. Shiny staples with long spaghetti, long. Life’s like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re gonna get. What the fuck? I watched that movie yesterday, and Tom Hanks was amazing in it. But why would I say that? Or did I think it? Or maybe I’m dead and they’re scanning my brain?

The place lit up like a New York stage play. Stuff’s everywhere, and I’d swing my face to see it, but I’m stuck on this damn table. None of that matters though, because a set of tentacles sways in front of me. Tentacles. Tentacles! Mom always told me there was no such thing as this. “Bad guys in spaceships won’t come to hurt you,” and she’d smile when she said it. I need that smile right now, that’s for sure. Oh shit, a tentacle touched my face, and it’s dripping something that smells like moldy cheese. The creature’s talking to someone, but it’s not speaking English…Ya, definitely not English.

The lights grow closer and warmer and so bright I could be a movie star. Sweat pours down my face. I give up. This bike’s obviously not going to break and let me leave this place. The tentacles belong to a face that makes me wish I were dead. A waft of alcohol reminds me of Dad’s love for vodka. A blasting sound shakes everything and forces the octopus man to grab a handle hanging from a ceiling that looks like a giant beehive. I hope it falls and dies. It doesn’t.

It holds an instrument that looks like a knitting needle, only sharper. I want to cry, but something’s numbing my emotions. The needle drops toward my eye. My face shakes like a leaf in a thunderstorm, but doesn’t move. Closer, closer, closer, closer. The needle’s blurry now. No, no, no. Please don’t do it. Please! I try to scream, but there’s a dozen marbles in my mouth. The needle hits, but doesn’t hurt. I feel suction, then the pointy thing changes color, pulls away and slides above my other eye. Another blast shakes the room.

Spaceship Engines. No more Earth for me.