Emotions are the rawest, most powerful entities to have ever existed. They transcend every language, every tongue, and are found in every living thing capable of thought. Each one has it's own distinct feel, rolls off of it's carrier in a different manner.
Right now, fear is all I can read. It's polluting the air, stuck to the furniture like the scent of cigarette smoke, rolling off of the person in front of me in waves. I can smell it, taste it on my tongue when I inhale. Still, the blue skinned extra terrestrial sitting in front of me keeps a completely straight face, trying to give nothing away as he speaks to me in a language that I don't understand. I don't have to.
I can read the fear whenever I'm around any of them. Sometimes, it's mixed with relief. Other times, it's clouded with paranoia. Either way, only one thing could strike such an emotion into each and every one of them: they're running away from something. Judging by the growth in their anxiety over the past few weeks since their arrival, whatever they're afraid of is on it's way.
"What's it saying?" the officer asks me impatiently, anxiety colouring his aura. That's the emotion that humans have been carrying lately; this overbearing anxiety, sometimes laced with paranoia and/or fear as to what these creatures will do. Truthfully, we should be afraid; just not because of these ones.
"All I can read is fear," I reply to the officer. "It's on all of them."
"They're afraid of us? Well, we're scared of them, too," he tells me, completely misunderstanding my statement.
There has been word of the humans waging war against the invaders, which would honestly be a great mistake, as these people are the only thing that can help us prepare for what is coming.
"You're supposed to be some magical mind reader," the officer says in annoyance. "Please give me something better than that."
"I don't read minds, I read emotions. I'm telling you what I know," I tell him calmly. "But the only logical reason for their collective fear, is that they're running from something. Something big."
"So they've brought their issues here?" he asks anxiously. "We need to get them the hell off of our planet!"
The alien jumps slightly at the sound of the man's voice, and his open hostility. I give him a sympathetic glance.
"No, officer. We need to find out what this thing is, because they've been here. Even if they die, they would still have been on Earth. It's coming for us, too."
That's what I've been telling most of them, but they ignore me. The politicians tell me that it's unrealistic to believe that we could ever work with aliens, and scientists tell me that my talent isn't real, that I'm a liar. I've spent the past month trying to spread my message harder than a Jehovah's Witness, only to be completely and utterly ignored by everyone. Frustrated, I used the ability that I hate the most to get what I want: the ability to manipulate people's emotions. I hate manipulation, but it was a necessary evil. I turned their anxiety, fear and stubbornness into a willingness to listen. That's how I landed myself in this interview with the extra terrestrial.
I feel the man beside me growing more and more anxious by the second. I close my eyes.
"Calm down," I order, forcing an unnatural calm outwards from within my core. Almost immediately, he settles.
"So what do you think we should do?" he asks, almost sounding like a robot. I feel disgusted with myself for controlling this poor man, but I quickly shake the feeling off.
"We try to communicate," I tell him calmly. "We can't do it verbally... so maybe, we should find another way."
The alien across from us senses the change in the officer. Some of his fear makes way for mild curiosity as he stares at the man. Strange. Maybe he has some odd power, too.
"Do you have a paper and pencil?" I ask him.
"Yes. I'll just go and get that," he answers, compliant as ever.
As he leaves the room, the fearful alien locks eyes with me. As we stare at each other, I consider calming him down, just so that he can feel at piece for a little while. However, just as that thought comes to me, he bares his teeth and growls. This time, I cower in fear. After a few seconds, he — visibly — relaxes just in time for the police officer to walk back in. I can still feel the alien's fear, masked only by his calm appearance.
How the hell did he know?
"Here you go," the officer says, handing me a large piece of blank paper with a pencil. I take it, grateful for the interruption.
My idea is that the alien will draw his fears so that we can better understand him. With a shaky hand, I try my best to draw a lion roaring on the paper. When I'm done, I hold it up for him to see it. He remains completely stoic, but he warns toward me a little.
I turn the paper over, and hand it to him.
Then, he does something that I would never have expected: he smiles. It's brief, but because I am paying so much attention to him, I catch it. For a millionth of a second, I think that maybe, I might get him to relax, but the moment is over as soon as it begins.
He hastily sketches something into the paper, holding the pencil as if he is used to doing so. After about two minutes, he puts down the pencil and slides the paper back to me.
The lighting in the room is low, and I am not wearing my glasses, but still, I can see the drawing and interpret it clear as day. I feel my stomach drop and my heart twist uncomfortably in my chest.
"Tell the president to declare a state of emergency," I order the man standing beside me.
"We can't just order him to put the country in a state of fear and terror."
"Well, tell him that I have to see him," I tell him. We have to do something. I have to do something.
"What did he draw?" the officer asks curiously, only to gasp in surprise at the sight before him. I feel him descend into anxiety and fear again, but this time I don't stop him.
"Holy hell," he mutters to himself, echoing my feelings. On the paper before us is a picture of war. Men holding weapons at one man, kneeling in the middle. The aggressors far outnumber the victim ten to one, and roughly one million members of the refugee race are already here. That means that when their enemies come, it will be a lot of them. Millions of angry, violent aliens invading our — my — home.
I look up at the man who is now our only hope of survival, my body trembling.
"We will fight this," I promise. "We will do this together."
I don't know if it's just optimism, or if it's my fear making me hyper aware of everything, but somehow, I know that he understands me.
