The Trick

It was a bulbous, mucky day, the day they signed the new constitution in cow's blood, and I was there sitting in the back row next to my alien counterpart, Kwqn, feeling altogether putrid.

I hate the smell of human sweat. But you mix that with the absolute stench of blood from a fresh dead cow, and you get a righteous disease of the olfactory organ. Not to mention the churning of the gut.

Kwqn witnessed the cow die, another ceremony in itself, and he was downright giddy from the proceedings.

First off, they shot it with an old handgun from the early 2030's, but the lone bullet didn't kill the damn thing, a plump, gargantuan sloth of a beast, which whined and gurgled but continued standing and breathing. The committee to kill the cow frantically went searching for another means to off the poor creature, since they only had one ceremonial bullet, and that bullet was lodged somewhere in the cow's thick skull. Luckily, an ancient hacksaw, from primitive times, was hanging on the wall in the kill room, an ornament of the past I suppose, and so that was used to finalize the execution, but it took some time.

Kwqn was smiling throughout the whole undertaking, if you can call an alien with two mouths on top of each other and no teeth a smile. It looks more like shock and horror, but I know Kwqn well, and am suitably versed on the behavior and reactions of the Žok species.

Kwqn, like myself, was sillier than most of his kind, something the matching committee must have overlooked or failed to recognize. He took to his new experiences on Earth like a bird defecating in flight, that is, with a heavy dose of jest and liberation. Earth was just too preposterous a place, full of quackery and malfeasance. Human-beings were always taking their lives and minuscule brains with cheerful irrelevance, and Kwqn was brisk in his assessments, a naturally observant creature, which having six eyes spaced around the crown of your head does for you. He enjoyed this canvas of spectacle immensely.

Despite the many differences we share with the Žok, least of which is our handle on reality, Kqwn and I became fast friends, if fast means getting his entire history telepathically imported into my brain in the span of minutes, at which point I threw up everything in my stomach and had blurry vision for an hour afterwards. Kqwn found that amusing, and after the dust cleared in my head, I did too. When I tried to relay my complete background to him, he communicated he already knew it and it was boring. I had to admit, compared to the life of a Žok, it was rather boring. However, if human history was boring (eventful but predictable), then the human present is certainly not.

After the cow was good and dead, the kill room, ironically, looked like the complete opposite of a treaty. Needless to say, there was plenty of blood for the signatories to commence the event, which was purely for the sake of appearance, while the actual constitution (and treaty therein) was ratified days prior, deep in the bowel of the Senic.

So here we sat, in the back row, as each robed figurehead came forward, dipped their finger in the bowl of cow blood and laid down a goopy signature on the flowing white sheet of paper that stood for the new constitution. Kwqn could sense my discomfort, and lightly touched my arm, sending a jolt of endorphins throughout my body, which felt exultant and powerful, like cold fluid rushing through my entire anatomy, up and down, causing me to shudder and produce an audible squeak, and yet, beneath the rapturous feeling, in the back of my human cognition, whenever he does something like this, a crevice of concern emerges.

It's not to say Kwqn doesn't mean well, and is only using the gifts of bodily fortune available to him, as is my understanding. But during these last few moon cycles, I have begun to have premonitions, vivid dreams of the sort not produced by the Žok, which have risen in me a chasm I cannot fully comprehend nor justify. 

One prevalent dream that often repeats is that I am infinitely alone in a void, a labyrinth in the universe. However, in this macrocosm of solitary, everything is growing larger all around me, triumphing over me, squeezing me out, crushing me into an ever infinitesimal speck, which only further enhances the feeling of isolation. It feels like a dark vortex swallowing itself, on and on and on, and I am forever stuck in the middle.

I am at a loss as to what this means, if anything, and have buried my feelings and thoughts from Kqwn, who doesn't seem to care much either way. 

The supreme trip I am slated to take is probably doing most of the damage to my anxiety. Of course, it will only be a trip of the mind, as my body will be softly resting in the Funnel, the cylindrical tube designed by the Žok for us certain humans specifically picked to travel to the Žok colony planet. And maybe because of the immensity of the mission, as well as the incomprehensible nature of traveling by brainwave transference, it's all taking an organic toll on my faculties. 

Kwqn has assured me it will be completely painless and incredibly thrilling. He will be the one traveling with me, almost like an imaginary companion, living in my thoughts, a cosmic guide. I can only hope the colony planet, located on the outskirts of the Triangulum Galaxy some 2.42 Mly away, will be sufficient for the remaining human race. It is sad to be leaving Earth behind, but alas, it has changed. It will go on to support a new species. For this I am glad. The Žok have assured us it will be better this way. Kwqn has assured me.