The Interview
Page 2
teleportation technology.”
Sasha rolled her eyes in time with her comment, “Oh, boy. Here we go... teleportation, you say?”
“Indeed.”
Sasha pounced on it, “So why don't they just teleport here, why do they need space ships?”
“The technology allows for the coverage of great distances but not interplanetary distances.”
Sasha leaned back in her chair, “Ah, of course. I see you've rehearsed your script. I know I'm going to regret this, but what else do your visitors want?”
“Food, and because this planet has both chlorophyl and sustenance, it is very special to them. The two are rarely found together.”
“So, when they get here, what? Do they graze like cattle? Are they going to cover the forests and grasslands with salad dressing and chow down while stuffing weeds into the gas tanks of their space ships?”
Giggles meandered throughout the studio, and even Sasha couldn't keep from grinning. The Messenger, however, stared at Sasha and remained stoic. She quickly recovered her focus and dove back in with as much seriousness as she could muster, “What do they eat?”
“Brains.”
The studio erupted with laughter, and Sasha suppressed her own outburst while gesturing for quiet. “Alien zombies? Is that what you're telling me? So, is it any brains, or just people brains?”
“No, not zombies. As I told you, they possess a level of intellect that the tiny, human brain cannot fathom. The biology of the visitors allows them to process sentient brain and spinal matter into a type of fuel for their own minds.”
“Alright, let me recap here,” Sasha interjected, “The aliens are coming because they need grass for their spaceships and brains for food? That means that Earth is the quick-stop convenience store of the solar system. Kind of like a gas-n-go, but in this case, it's a grass-n-go.”
Sasha flashed a wide smile to the cameras as snickers drifted through the shadows of the studio floor. The Messenger broke his statuesque demeanor for the first time. A frown creased his brow, and his eyes bored into Sasha. She suddenly felt cold and constricted, as if she were being squeezed by an icy, metallic hand. “Sentient brains, is what I said,” and just as quickly, the man returned to his expressionless state.
Sasha silently recovered from her episode as he continued his oration, “Man's technology holds no resemblance to their own, nor can it pose any threat to them or their machines. I am their messenger. The message is that they are close, and humans have the choice to work with them.”
The annoyance Sasha had been suppressing was starting to leak out, “And let me guess, if we decide not to work with them, and we don't follow you, they're going to eat our brains?”
The man said nothing, and after several awkward seconds of tapping her fingers on the arm of her chair, Sasha blew a gasket, “Alright! This is ridiculous. I've heard enough, and I'm sure the people at home have as well.” But she was immediately distracted by the frantic arm waving and gesturing from Doug and the rest of the staff. Doug spun his hands in the familiar 'keep it rolling' pantomime while earnestly nodding his shiny head.
“Well, I can't believe I'm saying this, but apparently the people at home haven't heard enough.” Sasha adjusted her jacket and drew in a deep breath. “Okay, I'll play along. What kind of work do your visitors need us to do?”
“Gather food, of course.”
It took several seconds to make the connection. During the interim, the producers jumped and waved, urging her to say something, anything. Her eyes opened wide, “You've got to be kidding me,” she mumbled.
“There will be gatherers, and there will be food. It is your choice to make. Do not delay, as we have nearly all the gatherers we will need.”
Her impatience growing and showing through, the last sentence slid right by her, “And how do you know all this?” she snapped, oozing cynicism.
The Messenger rose from his chair, turned to face Sasha and extended both of his beefy arms out in front of his body. A fine, red mist sprayed from each hand as the skin between the middle and ring fingers split open and peeled away. Thick, black tentacles erupted from the open wounds and smashed into the temples of Sasha's head. Her upper torso and arms stiffened as her legs kicked sporadically. One of her black, high-heeled shoes flew to the left, then her body fell limp.
“Because I'm one of them...”
A nervous, female voice asked “Is this real? That's just special effects, right?”
The Messenger sloppily kneaded, mashed and slurped the contents of Sasha's cranial cavity, its appendages undulating as the skin covering them continued to split and drape. It drained the contents of the skull in a matter of seconds. The thing turned back to face the cameras, the ends of its tentacles noisily puckering and dripping blood. Sasha's body fell to the floor, and the studio filled with screams.
As panic took over, the staff and crew stampeded in any direction that led away from the stage. The creature glanced around until it had located the active camera hastily abandoned by its operator. It stared into the device with its human face and spoke as the surreal appendages explored the floor around Sasha's body, occasionally snatching up an overlooked piece of gray matter.
“Maybe you should revel in the fact that you haven't found life outside of your world, and for your own good, maybe you should stop trying. Better yet, you should be grateful that more of it hasn't found you.”
The pale eyes clouded over with thick, white cataracts as the arms split further upward, revealing more of the nightmare beneath. The thing leaned back, its body and limbs expanding as if filling with fluid in time to the sounds of ripping fabric.
A smooth, featureless body revealed itself; no hair, no nipples, no belly-button, no genitals. It resembled an inflated mannequin, save for the flailing tentacles. The torso, neck and head distended and began to split along a common seam, something dark and slick was moving just below the skin.
A deep voice rumbled through the studio, vibrating the entire building. “We are close...” echoed like sonic tremors, cracking the camera lens and shattering windows. As the world watched, the molting form before the camera abruptly disappeared.
The End
*****
“I write because I'm terribly unhappy if I don't...” - W.P.
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