Flash Fiction (Homage to Aimee Bender)
Last night while Michelle met with her women's group in the living room, I hid in the bedroom and read a bunch of Aimee Bender. After every story, I wondered, "How does she do that?" So, I tried to do what she (Aimee Bender, not my wife) does. This little baby story was the best thing I came up with:
My wife sleeps on the roof. She used to sleep besides me, in our bed, inside the house, but that was before our argument. I told her that her story just did not hold up, due to issues of translation, etc., but she swore that she had met an alien who came from a galaxy countless light years away, and that this alien convinced her an invasion was imminent. This alien, who conveniently had no name, even though it somehow was able to communicate with my wife (despite the fact that she only spoke English, a little bit of Spanish and just enough Portuguese to get us to the hotel and order us both caipirinhas at the bar in the lobby), told her to watch the sky for warning signs. The sky will look pink, and then purple, not the blue of the daytime or the blackness of night. That sounds like the sunrise or the sunset, I had told her. But, that’s not all, she had said. Small, frozen particles will fall from outer space. Snow? I said. No. She said. Debris from giant interstellar battleships that are hovering over planet Earth. They will have travelled here from a frozen planet and when they finally make it to ours, their ships will thaw from the heat at the core of our planet. Why would an alien race from a frozen planet invade us? I asked. It just didn’t add up. You’re not listening to me. She had said. You never do.
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Jason Scott Cohen is a painter, a writer, and a potato chip. This blog is where his thoughts do karate. He also writes year40.blog about being a liberal white guy during Trump's reign.