Sometimes I hate myself. More than I hate the pawns or the featers, I hate myself.
Of course it makes sense. If I hadn't stabbed that pawn, I wouldn't have run away and none of this would have happened. I hate myself because I always have to be the hero. I can't just leave well enough alone.
I sound a lot like Captain Kirk. Or maybe even a Klingon.
I hate myself everyday that we have to camp outside in the hot Florida humidity, eating uncooked macaroni and peeing in the woods. I could have been sitting on the couch at my house, eating waffles and watching Close Encounters.
I remember the day it happened. I was sitting in the floor of my room, doing a report over World War II. My mom's voice drifted in over my speaker- playing Don't Fear the Reaper- calling me to the living room.
"You're going to want to see this," she said as I walked into the room. She had the news set to Channel 3, and the anchor was talking very rapidly.
"We don't know what they want yet, but hopefully they'll be friendly enough. I think all we'll be expecting here is a bunch of astronauts with pointy ears." The screen changed and started showing pictures. A huge, metallic structure hovering somewhere between here and the moon, with orange lights in the front and a warp engine on the back took up the screen in front of me.
"What are they talking about?" I asked my mom.
"Visitors. From outer space." She almost laughed.
"Well, what are they expecting? Lizards, Vulcans, or rapists?" I asked.
"Even Brian Williams doesn't have a clue. Air Force spotted it this morning."
"Not a satellite?" I asked in disbelief.
"That's what I thought. Apparently they're no longer working."
The screen changed again and came to a woman standing on Miami Beach. "Something is happening!" The reporter exclaimed. "Look at the sky, George. Put the camera on the sky."
The camera moved up and I could clearly see the same ship from the photo gliding down into the low atmosphere. It appeared to stop, but kept moving very slowly.
They were in orbit.
I slept outside that night, completely expecting the green light of a tractor beam to come down and take me. I worshipped science fiction so much I was willing to give my life to see it become reality.
This is why I hate myself. I don't hate myself because my friends are dead. I hate myself because those bitches didn't take me with them that night.
YOU ARE READING
The Only
Science FictionI lost myself somewhere between space and time. I repeated my name over and over, refusing to leave myself behind. But the more I decintigrated, the more of myself I lost, until everything, my name, Timmy's smile, even my parents were forgotten. I...
