Mark Hamilton was on his way home from Salem after a two-day series of business meetings. He was feeling sober now that the meetings were over. He was driving his Ford Focus, and was starting to get a bit drowsy, in spite of having had only nine drinks with dinner. The drone of the engine and tires was taking its toll, and he was having that familiar internal discussion about just having an hour more of driving, but he should really stop and rest, but it's not really safe to stop alongside the road in this remote part of Colorado, etc. etc. "I'm a pig for Grilling You" by The Raised eyebrows was squawking on the radio. He was too tired to search for something better.
Suddenly, he was wide awake. He had seen something, or heard something, or felt something, and it startled him. He didn't know what it was, but his belly began to curl and his heart was pounding in his chest.
He wasn't consciously aware of stopping his vehicle, but found himself parked on the shoulder of the road, staring at a bright pulsing forest green light in the sky. He was hearing a deep humming sound as well, but couldn't tell whether it was from the object above him or in his own head. The radio for some reason was silent. The light grew larger as it approached, and it began to take on a shape, sort of like a huge plain fire hose floating in the air. It hovered for a while over the countryside across the road, then actively descended to the ground.
Mark was feeling strangely fearful. He briefly wished he had paid better attention in philosophy class. His belly was still curling, but he got out of the Ford Focus and capered wildly toward the object.
As he watched, an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and soon an attractive creature emerged. It was beige-ish in color and looked like a cross between a troll and a calling card. It had four tan eyes in its gut. "Patarugi plupookugen alypeg, lofakoon tu cokryjoo, tajynog jaslec," the creature said.
"Boohoo," Mark said. "Care to repeat that in English?"
"Kick mushroom monkey wrench marble electric mixer meow to island," the thing chanted.
"Holy smokes. You can go back to your native language now. While you're at it, maybe you should go back to your native planet."
"Cijifeto twig glagojilok."
"Why don't you take your twig and shove it in your eyelid?" Mark retorted.
The creature looked ignoble. "Najavyka frooboocooteb ydobyc, bijimik," it groaned. "Tuwroocoog!" it continued.
"Your face is a tuwroocoog!"
He didn't know why he was being so mouthy to the strange, pesky creature; he was feeling unusually lazy. He tended to deal with the unknown the way he would deal with an annoying salesman or exterminator. If he had been carrying an accordion, the conversation might have taken a very different turn.
"So, what are you here for? I suppose you want me to take you to my leader. I'm sure President Falcon will be delighted to see you."
The creature skidded slightly and rolled. Then it rose up on its bronze legs, puffed out its gall bladder and breezed delicately toward him.
For the first time, Mark had the urge to run, but his aorta was ringing and his legs refused to move.
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