This is it!
The weird aliens were planning to leave him here to die of boredom!
Tommy had ran through every curse word and insult he knew at least twice.
And Tommy knew a lot of insults.
He had resigned to just staring at the ceiling quietly, his throat sore from screaming and yelling.
They couldn't have left him with some fucking alien crayons and paper? Well, maybe they had a point in not doing that, there would be many questionable things drawn on the walls.
And to top off this torture, they had taken Tommy's bag and his fucking Oreos.
True monsters.
Anyway, Tommy was hungry. He hadn't eaten since two days before the
S.M.P.C.'s launch. Actually, there had been some sort of substance pumped into the passengers that apparently had enough nutrients to keep them alive for the entire trip but Tommy didn't count that.
God, Tommy would fucking kill for a Coke.
As Tommy was debating the chances he could reverse engineer the recipe for Coke-a-Cola with his close to zero science or cooking experience, the door slid open near silently.
Realizing a few seconds too late, Tommy darted under the bed as the blue bitch step in, a tray of... something in his hands.
There was a chittering from the bitch and the sound of metal being set on the ground.
Then the sound of the door closing?
Tommy peaked out, forgetting that they could have closed the door while staying inside.
Not that it mattered because Tommy was alone in the room again, except for now there was a tray with something that look suspiciously like a plate of... it's the fucking cubes again.
"GOD DAMNIT! I DON'T WANT YOUR BITCH ASS ALIEN DRUGS!"
Tommy sat in the corner of the room cross legged and arms tightly crossed in front of his chest. He wasn't pouting. He was being a ridiculously large man, not giving into peer pressure.
Don't do drugs, kids. That what good old Tommy Big T Careful Danger Innit always says.
.
.
.
God, Tommy was going to lose his fucking mind in here.
And to top it all off, Tommy was really hungry. The cubes looked diseased...but the weird bird-man had eaten one. No, NO, Tommy wouldn't eat them.
Tommy glared at the tray with a burning hatred.
"Just those alien bitches wait, when I get out of here I'll steal all their money and marry their wives and I'll make them eat weird, diseased, drug caramels," Tommy grumbles.
Besides, it's only been what? Technically a day since he ate? What was the rule? 3 minutes with out air, 3 days without water, 3 weeks without food? Tommy would be just fine for a while, hopefully long enough for the weirdos to realize he won't eat the cubes.
Tommy sat in that spot for what felt like hours (it was 20 minutes), occasionally muttering random things to himself.
The door was opening again and Tommy was practically on the opposite side of the room from his hidey hole.
"Fuck, fuCK, FUCK!" Tommy shouted as he scrambled into his safe place, earning a surprised chirp from the bird-man, who was the one to open the door and come in.
The bird-man looked from the tray to Tommy's hiding place before gesturing towards the cubes.
A strange, almost mechanical voice chirped in what he assumed was the language of the bird people before the bird-man started chirping again.
YOU ARE READING
When Did I Become The Alien? (SBI Fic)
Fanfiction"A handful of people from all walks of life, chosen at random by a raffle to board the S.M.P.C and travel the stars to the new Earth!" The international announcement had excited everyone, especially the people who couldn't have dreamed of paying fo...
