They fell to the ground, laughing and fondling their own crotches in delight. As had all the others whom the beam had swept over. But the strangeness, the shock and awe and surprise still prompted those who could, to flee. My eco-friendly boxy hybrid sputtered and died; being largely electric, the EMP pulse had scrambled its workings beyond repair. That was something the theorists and UFOlogists had been right about; the aliens would first try to zap our electronics. But no one anticipated the second wave of their attack; nor could the best thinkers determine their exact objectives.
The alien warship was about the size of a hurricane, blotting out the sky with fluid, curvy ripples and bulges composed of some matte-green alien alloy; there were numerous ports, lights and devices on its surface that glowed hot pink, the same color as the ray-beams that swept my city. Well, I guess not my city; I'm just one of many newly-graduated computer-science geeks -- but we were all in for it...whatever it was.
No disintegrations, no explosions so far. Just these pink rays that bathed streets and buildings, and left behind insane, giggling people in its wake.
"It's.....some kind of...of...pleasure ray?" And it left young and old, male and female writhing upon the pavement; writhing with a glee unnatural, smiling so hard that they no doubt pulled the muscles in their cheeks. A plump blond housewife shook like a ragdoll, screaming all throughout a spontaneous orgasm that erupted between her thighs. And it continued; on and on. Some of the older ones couldn't handle it, collapsing insensate as the waves of impossible, artificial bliss continued to ravage their bodies. But those younger, once they got over the initial shock, their fumbling fingers tore through their pants as they began to masturbate furiously. Yet surprisingly little destruction for the no-doubt apocalyptic end of human civilization.
The jet-fighters came next. I felt a brief twinge in my belly as I dared hope that humanity was not utterly helpless before this extraterrestrial violation. No shimmering force-fields like I would have expected from the movies; missiles aimed at the hovering behemoths seemed to vanish without a trace. Then I noticed yawning, rippling...invaginations materializing out of thin air. They gaped for just moments, swallowing man-made projectiles into a hidden void of nothingness. I could see dozens of feathery-white trails in the sky as the armed forces unleashed their pent-up ballistic paranoia from the Cold-War against a new and terrible enemy.
But it was all for nothing. No explosions. Not a single missile struck any target. Strange vaginal voids in space-time just devoured every projectile. I could see one of the F-15's streaking away to attack from another angle, but one of the voids opened, and consumed the whole aircraft along with every missile it had fired.
Makes sense I suppose. If they're advanced enough to get over here from a whole other solar system, the battle's probably lost before it ever started. But for me, that didn't matter; I had to escape, survive, and those of us that remained after the attack would work out some way, anyway to fight back, no matter how long it takes! Then the ship started to pulsate, the rounded swells of greenish metal began to quiver and writhe, as if expanding...moving...opening?
**********
"F-FIGHT YOU!!!" I howled, as I sprang upright in bed, drenched in sweat. It took a few seconds of panting into the cool dawn air before I remembered to unclench my fists. Not daring to voice my own suspicions, I opened my venetian blinds to check...
Whew. No looming alien space-craft. No furiously embattled tanks or jet-fighters. Just the city. With people going about their business. As normal. Like every other day. And now, it seemed as those these dreams were also becoming normal. That was just the latest in a long, long line of night-time visions of alien domination. Why? What the Hell had I been smoking? Well, I'd finally scheduled an appointment with a shrink, at Jase's insistence and hearty recommendation; he had a right to be tired of my screaming waking him up at night.
The dreams...they been haunting me for months now; teasing me with a certainty more compelling than sunrise, death, or taxes. They seemed more than just undigested burritos dancing a Conga line in my brain. The visions had a vividness, a clarity that was deeply sobering. A certainty...that they were true? How could they be true? To be on the safe side, I peeked again as I slipped on a bathrobe. Nope, still no alien dreadnoughts come to lay waste to mankind.
Months of this insanity... but the real reason, why I'd put off trying to get some kind of -- any kind of professional help was that I couldn't acknowledge; even to myself that my convictions might be a source of weakness, might be some kind of whacked-out psychotic break. What I believed -- what I knew to be true was such a compelling drive that I had refused to allow anything to justify the obvious suspicion that I was just another conspiracy nut.
Well, who am I kidding; I am a conspiracy nut; but that doesn't mean I'm crazy. Not necessarily. I hope.
I had intended to tend to the morning flagpole, but I could hear that someone was in the shower already. I could hold off for few minutes. I curled up on the couch and zapped on the boob tube. I flipped through channels featuring live-sex acts on public access T.V., seven different versions of the Playboy channel - Just in time for CSPAN coverage of a Presidential Rose Garden ceremony in which the Commander-in-Chief was presenting the Medal of Freedom to the founding members of the newly sanctioned Federal Sex-Workers Union. The gleaming medallion tossed and turned as the metal valiantly fought to nestle itself between the abundant cleavage of Lexxxia Amore, a silicon-happy, giggling embarrassment to feminism and cash-cow for a host of cosmetic surgeons. Even months after the creation of the Union, and the ratification of the Sex-Worker Protection act by Congress, the sudden acceptance and praise that was being heaped on whores, strippers, and the dangerously promiscuous was still surreal enough to make my jaw drop. Lexxxia gave a little jiggle for the benefit of the audience, followed by a coy smile. And this president was a Republican no less! Just the latest example. All this smut on the air, seemingly with no regard nor mention of FCC decency/nudity regulations.
My name wasn't Sherlock Holmes, and it didn't have to be for me to realize that something, somewhere had gone desperately wrong with the world. And no one seemed to care; no one seemed to notice. Except me, me and my small circle of friends, allies, fellow-conspirators. I think I know. At least, I might have grasped part of the puzzle. But then I heard the door swing open, and the sprinkling of the shower seemed to be dying down. Jase was probably done and forgot to completely turn off the water, I'd just slip in to use the facilities before the busy day I had ahead of me.
