Written by Rachel Noll and illustrated by Shelby Mabery
The CIA people sat with me in a room, lit dramatically with just one lamp shining down on my face, like you see in those police investigation type movies. You know the ones. You know the lighting.
I held a cup of steaming coffee, looking into the dark liquid abyss, trying to figure out what exactly I was going to say to them. Would they think I was cray cray? Would they send me to an asylum, where I would spend the rest of my days? The tape spun in the tape recorder on the table.
"Ma'am, please," the CIA guy said. His eyebrows twitched in a way that made me feel kind of like trusting him. I'm weird like that. Face twitches do that to me.
So, I began.
"That's all I remember," I told the CIA man quietly. He had not been listening intently to my story, so his head snapped up in attention. Perhaps he was relying too much on the tape recorder on the table. Perhaps he was exhausted from how amazing my story was. I didn't know and I didn't care.
"I don't know what happened to my boyfriend," I said. I tried to look extra sad. Not because I wasn't sad, but I just felt like maybe they wouldn't believe my story and they might imprison me if I didn't.
"He's alive," the CIA man said.
And he pulled the skin off his face, like big rubbery flesh silly putty.
was an alien.