Fear and Aggression

by Dane Bagley

War of the Worlds, seemed so off the mark. First, it assumed that aliens were in our own solar system—Mars. Then, they were strange ugly creatures that were nothing like humans—and they were the superior beings. They came here, with a plan to destroy humans. Earth was in the phase of low technology, minding its own business, and they came here unannounced and started killing humans. Mark found it hard to concentrate on a story that was so far from the realities that were happening at this time. Still, it was cool discussing it with Tess, and he really wanted to get into the Space Force. With Steve’s success, if he got the grades, he might get a chance to be pushed up to Captain much sooner than just anyone. He was motivated—more motivated than ever before.

  Everything in the world had changed over the past few weeks, like the carpet had been pulled from under his feet. People were so weird. The news showed how ridiculous people could get. It was so cool seeing the video of the alien and the research girl on Steve’s ship. His brother wouldn’t try to deceive everyone on earth—he couldn’t understand why so many people said it was faked. She was definitely pretty, but why did that make it a fake? If she was ugly, would everyone believe it? Last night, the talk show, that Gramps was watching, was arguing back and forth about the beauty of the alien, and whether or not this indicated the government trying to pull a fast one. One man said that no one on earth was that pretty, and that if she was from earth, everyone would have already seen pictures of her. He reasoned that the government couldn’t have hidden such a pretty woman and then brought her out with no one knowing who she was, just for this video. The other man kept explaining that the government was using the oldest marketing technique in the book—using a beautiful person to diffuse fears and concerns. They were trying to allay the growing fears and concerns by simply using a gorgeous model to make everyone feel comfortable with the alien.

  The polls showed that only twelve percent of the U.S. population believed that this video was of the actual alien, without editing enhancement. Gramps said that he didn’t know whether the video was accurate or not, but that it had backfired. People were getting angry, and were starting to show their anger in riots. He couldn’t understand what everyone was so upset about. She seemed nice, and the other girl wasn’t scared of her at all. It was weird that she sounded just like an American, and not even like a foreigner. That’s what Tess said: “Dad says that she sounds too American to be an alien. They could have at least got someone who sounded alien.” The other thing was that she looked perfectly human; not even ‘Spock ears’ or anything.

  The weirdest thing of all was when they were under martial law last week. The riots were pretty bad, but at least he got a couple days off of school. Now they just had some army guys with machine guns protecting the school entrance.

  “The aliens aren’t even able to fly a plane, and we are getting ourselves all worked up here. They have been up there for my whole life, and probably for thousands of years, so now we are all freaked out.” Still, in just a few years, he was getting out of here. He was going up there, and he, and Steve would be making sure everything was fine. Gramps said that it would all blow over, and people would get back to normal, eventually.

  Mark closed his book, and put it in his backpack. He grabbed a handful of peanut M&M’s and walked out the door. It was brisker than he expected, so he returned back for a grey sweatshirt jacket. His mind was racing through all of these thoughts as he walked on autopilot towards school. Other kids, walking, or on bikes, or skateboards, were not an unusual sight, so they all slipped into his subconscious while he walked. It was the first morning that he had seen his breath, and that was the only thing about the physical reality that had struck him this morning.

  “Hey, man.” A few boys, a little bit older than he, were in front of him. They had stopped their bikes, and had thrown them down carelessly. Four boys started making their way towards him.

  “Hey, man. You’re the big celebrity around here, aren’t you?” said a fifteen-year-old lad with short blond hair.

  “So was that hot chick the real alien? What’s your brother say about that?” spoke a boy with dark straight hair that was over one of his eyes. “Has your brother sent you any other pictures? I want to see the pictures that you’ve got. Show them to me,” he said as he shoved Mark in the shoulder.

  Another boy chimed in, “Your brother tough? What if that alien chick starts doing her voodoo or alien karate on him, will he whip her?” Then he gave Mark a hard two-handed shove on both shoulders.

  Mark stepped back two steps and dropped his backpack. He could see where this was all going. The boys were all older and taller than him. They had been around, as far as fighting went. Mark was big and strong for his age, but he would be no match for this set.

  “Why’d he capture her? Don’t you think that he will make them all mad? They’re going to come here and do all sorts of stuff to us. I think your brother’s stupid just like you.” The blond boy landed a hard right hook squarely onto Mark’s chin. The pain was delayed for a second, but his heart raced instantly. The four boys formed around him, such that if he went at any one of them, the others could all defend and attack instantly. Mark started breathing hard, as his heart pumped out of his chest.

  “Tell your brother to just off her, and all her alien people. We don’t want them around. If we are so strong, let’s just take them out.”

  “Like we are going to take you out,” said the last boy laughing.

  “You better run, man, maybe that cute girl you’re always with can help you.” Laughing around the group ensued.

  Mark wouldn’t run to save his life. He didn’t say anything, either. He kept eyeing each one of them in turn. He could feel the pain pulsing on his chin now; he wanted to rub it, but didn’t dare show any sign of pain or weakness. His head was already aching, and he was feeling sick to his stomach.

  “Looks like he wants more, let’s give it to him.” The boys came in, and Mark got one good swing off, and struck the boy with dark straight hair on the side of the head. The others grabbed his arms, and the next thing he knew, he was taking one hit after another; stomach, face and groin were pounded indiscriminately. The pain was intense, and he was not able to breathe. He could feel the blood in his mouth, and tried to spit, but it just trickled out. He tried to keep his eyes open at first, so that he could see where it was all coming from, but soon he was cut on the corner of his right eye, and the blood oozed in, forcing him to shut his eyes.

  The next thing he knew he was on the ground laying face up. He was still taking face shots, but he was fading out of consciousness. The kick to the side, cracking three ribs, woke him right up. It ached on top of the pain he felt all over. “How do you like that? That’s what they are going to do to all of us. We’re all toast, thanks to your stupid brother, and our stupid President.”

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  He grabbed his side, and tried to rub it, but was struggling with consciousness. He managed to turn his head so that the blood could run out of his mouth, and not choke him. He woke up about a minute after going completely out. He didn’t know how long he had been out, and he tried to open his eyes. The right eye was no use—too swollen—but the left eye was open and the world was bright and spinning. He didn’t see anyone, and didn’t think that he could do anything except lay there. He could at least breathe now, but it was only with extreme pain where he had been kicked in the ribs.

  He focused with what consciousness he had on breathing alone. He concentrated on minimizing the pain with each breath. He could still fill the warmth of fresh blood on his face, and he knew that he was still bleeding. He could also feel the sensation of dried blood as he moved the muscles of his face. It was strange that no one was around. The street was so full, he thought, before this had all happened. Maybe everyone was scared, with all the rioting, and just left. He heard a car go by, but it did not stop. He couldn’t muster the strength to try and
flag it, and he certainly couldn’t shout.

  It felt like a long time, maybe half an hour (Though it was only seven minutes) before he heard a voice. It was a man’s voice, and he was coming towards him. Mark partially opened his eyes and saw the form of someone coming towards him. There was a car also, but he had not heard it come up. Mark had actually lapsed briefly into unconsciousness again just as the car had come up.

  “Mark? Is that you? What happened? Are you okay?” The voice was vaguely familiar but Mark could not place it. He tried to turn his body and face towards the figure, but in reality he didn’t move much. “Open the door—it’s Mark—he’s hurt badly.”

  Another voice could be heard, the voice of a girl. Mark recognized that voice—it was Tess. Then he heard a shriek, and could feel her by his side. He was losing consciousness again, but could sense that his body was being picked up off of the ground. He had not been picked up and carried in years, and it felt strangely pleasant—except for the sharp pain that shot through his ribs again. His body ached all over, and felt even worse as it was moved.

  He briefly awoke, again, and was in the backseat of a car. He could hear Tess’ voice again, and that was pleasant.

  He woke again, and was on a cart of some sort and being rolled by a man in green scrubs and a white lab coat. He stayed awake, to some extent, but closed his eyes and didn’t move. He felt at peace, knowing that he was under the care of doctors. He didn’t want to stay awake any longer; he just wanted to sleep off the extreme pain. Now, however, he seemed to be able to keep consciousness. The cart came to a stop, and then he was picked up again and placed into a bed. The pain was extreme, as he was not placed gently, and the shock of the pain pushed his consciousness over the edge again. He was out.

  Chapter 39