Their planet was forgotten--Destroyed, someone had told them. They were taken a very long time ago, taken and held down and beaten to submission. The more time they waste, the worst. One day they'd grow too weak to do anything--one day they wouldn't...
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In two or three days from now, it'll be this story's one-year anniversary! Thank you everyone for sticking around and supporting this silly story! Your comments had been a wonder to read and an encouragement, particularly filling me with pride! Thank you so much!
-x-
"Sun? Moon?!"
Roxy stared at the phone in horror, her jaws slack and gaping as she tried to call their names over and over again—
The scream she heard made her blood run cold, and she hung up to quickly open her messages and see the location they had sent. She was frantic. She had absolutely no other thought in her head other than to reach them. Her heart hammered against her sternum as she turned on the engine of her motorcycle—the sound vibrated in the quiet morning, loud and clear. She could use the car, but she knew a car wouldn't get her there fast enough.
She had to save them.
She couldn't do anything in the past—she was neither rich nor was she of a high-ranked lady—but she knew she could not fail to do what was at hand right at the moment. This was a choice laid perfectly on her palms, and she'd be damned if she didn't die trying.
Perhaps she didn't know them as much as someone would to be considered a close friend. Mrs. Lawrence always styled her hair, and she always chose Roxy's salon. That was the only reason why Roxy even got a few chats with the smaller alien.
She guessed she felt more sympathy towards them than anything else. Roxy didn't know them, she didn't know what they liked, what they sounded like outside of the quiet mumbles at being watched or under stress, and didn't get to spend that much time with them. Aside from their owner letting them wait for her and Roxy getting a few greetings from them, they weren't really friends.
But they were kind. They smiled and greeted her whenever they came around—Sun would give a, "Hello," while Moon would usually just wave. In their ways, they never were anything but sweet.
They still weren't her friends. Friends hang out and talk and laugh with each other—this wasn't elementary school where you befriend someone in a matter of a minute.
But, in a way, that sympathy, and perhaps pity, made her want to offer a hand she knew she couldn't give.
She still spent time with them, no matter how small. The years they spent with Mrs. Lawrence and her obsession with styling her hair made her always come around to fix it in some way or another—a new haircut. A new hairstyle. A new hair color. A trim. A treatment. Her time with the two had been limited, but they had wormed their way into her heart before she even realized that.
Perhaps that wasn't how most friends are made. Perhaps she was just feeling a sense of sympathy, or maybe pity. Perhaps they just seemed in need of a friend, or, at least, someone to talk to instead of being talked at. And perhaps it was just the protective feeling she gets whenever she saw them in the past—the sour taste that filled the back of her throat like acid whenever she looked at them, whenever that heavy look crossed their face and she was just standing there, unable to do anything despite the fact she knew it wasn't her responsibility. Still, they have found their way into a soft spot in her thoughts.
