A Message from Arcon by Andrew Dawson...

I wasn’t drinking, I swear. And that craft was no trick of my imagination. The thing was egg-shaped and lit up like a stadium scoreboard, blinding my eyes. It floated down from the sky and hovered a couple of inches above the dirt in front of my pick-up truck.

I was at the waste ground to be alone – to count money, if you really want to know – and the last thing I needed was some government agent getting out of some super-secret, experimental-type plane to check up on me.

When a door appeared in the side of the egg, and that thing got out, I knew I wasn’t dealing with nothing made by no ordinary human folk. Wide eyes, big head, lollipop-stick of a body – it was an alien, no other word for it. And that plane was a spacecraft.

Getting out, I grabbed my Glock and stuffed it down my pants. Good thing I’d just been out on a job, else I wouldn’t have brought protection.

The alien raised all three fingers of its right hand. ‘GREETINGS, EARTHLING.’

I smiled and waved hello, all friendly-like. Soon as I got close enough, I pulled out my piece and aimed. ‘Get down on the floor, motherfucker!’

‘I DO NOT UNDERSTAND.’

‘Understand this.’ I pressed the barrel of the Glock right up against the alien’s fat forehead, letting him get a good feel of cold metal against flesh. ‘I’m robbing your ass.’

‘MY ASS?’

‘Give me all your money. Now!’

‘WILL GALACTIC CREDITS SUFFICE?’

‘Can you spend them in K-Mart?’

‘I’M AFRAID THEY ARE ONLY LEGAL TENDER ON FEDERATION-12 PLANETS.’

‘Then, no.’ My finger tensed against the trigger. He was buying time. I’d seen it so often before. ‘What else you got?’

‘A MESSAGE FROM ARCON.’ He raised his fingers again. ‘WE, HUMBLE INHABITANTS OF YOUR NEIGHBOURING GALAXY, WOULD LIKE TO INVITE THE CITIZENS OF EARTH TO SHARE IDEAS AND—’

‘Fuck Arcon.’ I flipped the Glock round in my hand and slammed the handle against the side of his head.

My alien friend thudded to the ground.

The inside of his spacecraft was nothing like I expected. It was a cave – that’s the only way I can describe it – with all these crystals growing out of the walls. There was no steering wheel, gears, pedals or anything, not even a chair. I almost felt sorry for the alien, travelling all this way in such an uncomfortable ride. Almost. What kind of douchebag buys a car or spaceship or whatever that doesn’t have a stereo? Using the Glock handle as a hammer, I chipped away at the wall.

That’s how I come to be in possession of this here crystal that I’m selling today. Look, if you shake it, it starts to glow. For you? Thirty dollars. But first, let me get back to my story.

When I got outside, the alien was back on his feet. But he didn’t look so good. He was holding his head where I had hit him. Green stuff was gushing out between those spindly fingers of his.

I showed him the crystal and said, ‘Thanks a bunch, buddy.’

His voice went all high-pitched. ‘MY FUEL CELLS!’

‘No, my fuel cells.’ I slipped the crystal into my pocket and took aim. ‘Now, either you get going under your own steam or I blow you the fuck away.’

The alien hobbled into his spacecraft and the door wheezed shut behind him. Bright lights flashed as he flew off, back to wherever he came from. And good riddance. We wouldn’t want him bleeding his green gunk all over our planet, now would we?

Originally from South Africa, Andrew Dawson lives in North East England. More of his writing can be found at akdawson.blogspot.com