An Alien on Temur Street

Chapter One- I

Summer took everyone by surprise that day in Aylesbury, California. Deep in the central valley of a state that had never seen any different the sun screamed with the visible words of hiss and sizzle and it shone out its life proclaiming effervescence once more. Every movement and sound that was birthed from this ludicrous idea of light- visible fricking light, refractive, reflective mother-fricking electromagnetic radiation in a surrounding universe of prevailing darkness and obtuse miss-matched gasses, I mean come on- was simply a reflection of screams back to the emotionally cold mother to us all, and by that I mean the self sustaining, eruptible fireball sitting ninety three million miles away.

None of us can’t help but live and scream back to it through our careless living and movements and breathing and blinking. Whether our intransigent existence is designed or a mistake or whatever they come up with next we cannot ignore our own human presence, our so very obvious screaming existence. From the birth to the trigger it’s just noise, ticking, thumping ‘I-am-here’ noises all day long.

We shake our surroundings with the loudness of our lives, invade the territories space: of floaty hippy like air particles and gasses(including that 0.04% of screwy Carbon Dioxide) when we suck up their cousins , we create round craters in the surfaces of our pillows with the impression of our gigantic heads and we cast throwaway shadows, as tall as dark twin tower sky scrapers, with our arms as we hit the radio Off, the earthquakes therein of an unintelligible magnitude therein silencing Soul For Real’s Candy Rain .

In soul, body and mind uncontrollably and everyday we scream like the infantile weak mortals we are. Every morning the kick starts of our waking moments are like the beginnings of summer, our consciousness and wakefulness descending slowly like fairy dust until we are covered enough to glitter with the ability to fly. But summer mornings, now they’re really something in California, in Jerusalem and even in the closed arctic womb of ice. These are the mornings where the sun is really trying to tell us something bright that we don’t have the language to understand with yet.

Specifically to number 201 Temur Street the reflected scream was an actual scream, not a metaphorical figure, from little four month old Hector Madison. He had been in his little white crib in the gender neutral yellow and ivory nursery, dreaming baby like dreams, when he was woken up at 05:02 on Wednesday morning. Though no one could say what by? In fact no one instinctively asked what he had been woken by, babies just wake up right, because that’s what they do, not because something has forced them to open their eyes, not some premonition, no way at all.

His mom had rubbed her eyes but before opening them in that divided second she thought, maybe I’m imaging it, maybe I can still go back to sleep. But like all good musings, the small faiths that spring up because you assure yourself in thought that good things will happen because and only because you want them to, hers were interrupted and dispelled as Hector cried out again because the world is primarily set in reverse, towards an intermit and darkening end. She went to his room groggily, while her husband turned over, willing himself back to sleep.

Cooper and Olivia Madison had been expecting Hector ever since Cooper’s mom- Matilda Madison- had joked at a family party, after they had announced their engagement, that at least she’ll die knowing she’ll has grandkids. From then on a hopeful seed had been planted by the old lady, an old actress from the generation that brought you My Fair Lady and What a Way To Go if you are old or cultured enough to remember – in both of them about what their children would be like.

Don’t get it wrong this doesn’t mean neither of them had ever thought of children before that day, but now the both of them were thinking about what a child with his eyes would be like or with her blonde hair. Their ideal became material and patented by the bumbling buzz of the birds and the bees.