Clara sat in the gloom in the kitchen of her lake cabin. The sun had set without her. Soon no sunsets would have her adoring gaze. She was terminally ill.
She had considered going home to Felicity but decided that it would be cruel to have her mother and sisters watch her die. She did not want them to suffer too. Her cancer had spread throughout her body.
She had known that her doctor's hopeful recital of her treatment options was ultimately going to be futile. Her denial stage had passed quickly. The lump still in her breast had told her she had waited too long.
There was never any anger. As she reviewed her life she realized she had wasted it in pursuit of a career. She had amassed a considerable amount of money so she had convinced herself that she was happy.
A corporate attorney, she focused her life on climbing the corporate ladder which she did rapidly, until hitting an invisible ceiling. She had refused to acknowledge its presence too.
Funny, after she resigned her law firm had seen her worth and tried to lure her back. She had never told them of her illness.
Her personal life had been reduced to quick, short-lived affairs with co-workers and clients, male and female. The only thing she had ever done for herself was to buy the cabin by the lake.
Once a month she went there to decompress. Over the last six months she had been there every weekend. Now, at the age of thirty-six, she was there to die.
She sat in a chair in her kitchen allowing the gloom to engulf her, mentally and physically. She had not moved for hours. Suddenly there was movement behind her. Her eyes were accustomed to the dark and she saw a form moving past her left shoulder.
Her anger surged. She sprang at the form violently. Something went clattering to the floor after she delivered her first blow. The form had apparently not seen her sitting in the dark and was caught by surprise.
Clara had been a fitness nut, spending long hours at the gym. It was in fact her noticeable lack of stamina that led to her first complete physical exam in her life less than a year before.
Her anger had returned some of her quickness and strength. She pummeled the creature with swift blows and soon the form was on the floor.
?Somewhere in her mind an observation formed that the battle had been won too easily. Her intruder was weak and small. Her foe had not defended itself.
Clara picked up a metal stool intending to crush the intruder's skull when a ray of moonlight penetrated the kitchen and she saw her adversary clearly.
It was not human.
It was not of Earth.
It had impossibly large almond shaped eyes on a somewhat triangular head, a mouth with no lips, a completely hairless very pale skin.
The alien did not appear formidable and in fact was barely the same size as the diminutive Clara herself. There was "humanity" there. Its face stopped Clara's final blow.
She had just seen that same face that morning in her hospital room mirror. It was the infinitely sad face of someone waiting for death.
Clara threw the stool across the room and sat on the chair she had occupied for hours. Adrenalin was withdrawn from her blood stream and she began to tremble, a flood of tears came. For the first time since her diagnosis she cried.
The alien on the floor blinked its eyes in confusion, not daring to move, in obvious pain.
Clara took a closer look at it as her tears subsided. Somehow Clara came to the conclusion that it was female. She seemed to still be awaiting her fate.
A small movement outside the kitchen caught her eye. It was a small alien, its eyes wide in panic.
"Great," Clara thought, "I almost killed somebody's mother."
Her tears returned as she tried to convince the little one that she was not a danger to him. Eventually she rose from her seat with a sad sigh and gently picked up the alien. Using all her strength Clara carried her to the living room couch.
She motioned the small one to come in and sit with his mother. She returned to the kitchen and prepared a bag of ice for the alien.
Her eye caught sight of the object that had clattered to the floor when she first struck the creature. It was one of her coffee mugs. She picked it up and smelled it. It had the aroma of chicken broth.
She began to put a possible scenario together. The two are stranded nearby. Clara had very set and precise habits which included arriving at the cabin around nine on Friday nights and leaving by two in the afternoon on Sundays or Mondays.
It was Wednesday night. No one would expect her to be there. She had not turned on a light, she had not moved from the kitchen chair. She had upset the alien's timing.
She searched the pantry for cans of chicken broth. She bought them by the case at the wholesale mega giant. It had been her primary form of nourishment for weeks.
Opening a large can she poured broth into a mug and some into a small cup. She warmed them up just a bit and carried them to the living room along with the ice bag.
The alien had not moved from the couch but the small one was now sitting at the end of the sofa. Clara was hurt to see the fear in its eyes.
Fear turned to surprise when she handed it the small cup of broth. Clara watched as what appeared to be a combination tongue/tentacle/straw was lowered into the broth and immediately lowered the level of liquid in the cup.
"Fascinating" she thought, using Mr. Spock's voice in her head.
Clara turned her attention to the mother and looked for buttons or a zipper on her tunic.
