Writing

Shoot to Kill


Bang. The gun was fired. Once, twice—oh would you look at that—three times. And here I was about to try and have a calm discussion about things. The man before me trembled. He fired the gun again and again and again, liquid leaking from his eyes. 
 	‘I—I’m sorry,’ he said when he finally realised none of his bullets would pierce my skin. ‘I didn’t mean to do that.’ Funny. Pointing a gun at me and firing, before reloading and firing three more times, didn’t seem like the kind of thing that could be an accident. Maybe I missed something in my human culture classes. I often fell asleep in those classes.
 	He backed into a metal table and fell to the floor. Scalpels, needles, and other strange tools I didn’t care to know the names of, came crashing down with him. I laughed, which probably wasn’t the right thing to do since it made the man scream, and that liquid—tears I think they were called—fall faster from his wide eyes. I thought tears just meant sadness or grief. Maybe I should have actually read the chapter on human emotions rather than skimming over it. Or maybe he was actually just sad—sad that he couldn’t breathe underwater like me, or glow in the dark like me, or be as attractive as me. He did look a little strange with those round things covering his eyes; the glass part had started to fog up with each of his rapid breaths. And that hair! Why was it so…Red? That’s what I think they call it: red. On my planet we just called it unfortunate.
 	‘Why’d you try to shoot me?’ I looked around the room. The walls were white, the benches were white, the lights were a blinding white. ‘Where am I?’
 	‘E—Earth.’
 	‘I got that much. Where on Earth am I?
 	The man opened his mouth but all that came out was a strangled scream. I sighed. It was obvious the man would tell me nothing. I left him to his tears. 
 	I had no idea where I was going, but all space jumps led to somewhere and, in this case, all hallways hopefully led to an exit. 
 	Shining black letters covered the crisp white walls. I read them and then brushed them aside; the words ‘Area 51’ meant nothing to me.
 	I met a few more humans on my way out of the building. All of them were heavily armed, and all of them pointed their guns at me. Were humans that closed-minded that they believed their guns would hurt all species? Their arms were steady around their silly little toys, trying, and failing, to hurt me.
 	I found the exit through a door with a bright green sign flickering above it. The door opened to the night sky. Lightyears away, I could also see my home planet. A hundred meters above the ground, I could see my families’ spaceship—the nice one with the cupholders, not the faulty one my father had been scammed into buying when he got drunk on Green Slime Juice. Its lights shone down on me like a spotlight and I grinned, which was a completely human gesture. I had been around these people long enough that their mannerisms were already starting to rub off on me—I’d take a long disinfectant shower when I got back on the ship.
 	The humans who had been shooting at me, ran out to catch up with me.
 	The ship’s megaphone crackled to life and my father’s voice rang through the air.
 	‘Release the prisoner and we will not blow up the earth.’
 	Ha, I thought as the humans started shooting their guns up at the ship only for the bullets to rain back down onto the dirt below. Humans deserved everything that was coming to them.