Story Time
Hey kids... feeling a bit meh about junk n' stuff. So, instead of me trying to force out some humor from my constipated brain, here's a short story I wrote a couple of months ago. It's a bit of fluff, but I think it's pretty not-bad, all things considered. Thoughts always appreciated, especially if they begin with "You're writing is sooooo sexy, C Dog..."
Without further blather:
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KISSING LIKE THE ALIENS HAVE LANDED
by Clinton Davis
I’m just saying that it’s highly unlikely.
You don’t think we’ll ever-
No.
You won’t even allow for the possib-
I said no.
You’re very naïve.
You’ve read too many books and watched too many movies and spent too much time alone with your X-Files box sets in a windowless room that keeps you from periodically checking on this little thing I like to call the “real world.” A world where aliens from space don’t exist except for in the minds of very nerdy men like you.
Women believe that there are aliens out there; aliens among us.
Please.
It’s true.
Well if it’s true, there aren’t enough of them to count. Women are smarter than that, a few rotten apples aside.
Rotten apples… that’s nice. Look, I’m not going to fight the battle of the sexes with you. Not here.
You can’t fight the battle of the sexes in a diner?
I can, I just don’t want to. I’m hungry and I’d rather focus my attention on the patty melt that, any moment, is going to be set before me, waiting for the addition of ketchup before its adventure to my stomach.
You really are just so powerfully dorky.
You’re the one who’s in love with me, so, you know, who’s really the one with problems here?
When your patty melt comes, can I have some of your fries?
Of course.
It’s snowing hard outside and Milo, as he waits for his patty melt and Emma locks her ankle behind his under the table, wonders exactly how he’s going to get them home. He’s not that great of a driver, he knows this, and he’s worried the roads are going to be slick. Emma driving is out of the question. She’d kill someone. She’d kill someone in perfect driving conditions. Snow added to the mix is like putting a laser sight on to a .44 Magnum; the chances of death are only increased. Emma stirs another packet of sugar into her coffee and watches the probably-sixteen-year-old waitress load up their food on a tray while attempting to blow a bubble with her gum. She brings the food over and puts the patty melt in front of Milo, the Cobb salad in front of Emma. Anything else? No, we’re good, thanks. The ketchup is liberally applied. Some fries are transferred from plate to plate.
Why are you so sure?
About what?
What were we just talking-, about the aliens, Dumbo.
Why am I sure that aliens are out there?
That’s what I’m asking.
Well, it’s basically that… okay, the universe is so big and there are so many galaxies that we, as a people, haven’t explored… it just seems very unlikely that we’re the only ones here. There’s just too much space out there for it not to be occupied by at least one more civilization that has evolved to the point that we have. Maybe even beyond what we’ve achieved.
And do they have ray guns?
Why do you ask when you’re just going to make fun?
Sorry. You have a point. A small one... but, still, a point. How’s your patty melt?
Good. Wanna bite?
Eh. Nah. Fries were enough. Want some salad?
Ew, no. It’s got egg on it.
Oh, right. Yeah.
Gross.
Do you think they’re friendly?
Who? The aliens?
No, the egg. Where’s your brain tonight.
On the road, looking for ice.
What?
Nothing. Yes, I think they’re friendly.
Because the movies would suggest otherwise.
Would the movies make money if the aliens were all snuggly and pleasant? Will Smith’s got to have something to knock around during the summer movie season, ya know. But I don’t think they’re evil or murderous. Probably the closest the movies have ever gotten to accuracy on the subject is Contact, though I don’t think they’ll all show up as our Dads or anything.
Hope you’re right.
What do you care? You think I’m an idiot.
Yes, true, but occasionally idiots aren’t idiots at all; they’re just ahead of their time. While I don’t think that’s the case here, there’s still the remote possibility that you’re right and, if you are, well I’d much prefer it if the aliens were friendly.
I’d protect you.
Would you?
Yes.
With your asthma and your degree in Comparative Literature, you’d protect me?
Yes. Certainly.
You say that with a lot of conviction.
Because it’s the truth.
Because you love me more than your own life? Because if I were destroyed by the ray guns of the aliens, your life would forever be meaningless?
Also because you’re really good in bed.
Nice. Let me have a bite of your patty melt, Fearless Hero.
I though you didn’t want a bite?
The Damsel In Distress has changed her mind. Hand it over.
I save you from the aliens and you eat my food. So unfair.
Milo and Emma finish their meals and leave the diner. After Milo unlocks the passenger-side door, he grabs Emma around the waist and kisses her with a passion and fervor that he, himself, wasn’t aware he possessed. He kisses her like the aliens are landing and it’s up to him to save the day. They drive home without incident and, although the aliens never land in their lifetime, Milo continues to watch the skies for their presence and Emma remains comforted that she’d be well taken care of if they did.
Without further blather:
-----------------------------------------------------------
KISSING LIKE THE ALIENS HAVE LANDED
by Clinton Davis
I’m just saying that it’s highly unlikely.
You don’t think we’ll ever-
No.
You won’t even allow for the possib-
I said no.
You’re very naïve.
You’ve read too many books and watched too many movies and spent too much time alone with your X-Files box sets in a windowless room that keeps you from periodically checking on this little thing I like to call the “real world.” A world where aliens from space don’t exist except for in the minds of very nerdy men like you.
Women believe that there are aliens out there; aliens among us.
Please.
It’s true.
Well if it’s true, there aren’t enough of them to count. Women are smarter than that, a few rotten apples aside.
Rotten apples… that’s nice. Look, I’m not going to fight the battle of the sexes with you. Not here.
You can’t fight the battle of the sexes in a diner?
I can, I just don’t want to. I’m hungry and I’d rather focus my attention on the patty melt that, any moment, is going to be set before me, waiting for the addition of ketchup before its adventure to my stomach.
You really are just so powerfully dorky.
You’re the one who’s in love with me, so, you know, who’s really the one with problems here?
When your patty melt comes, can I have some of your fries?
Of course.
It’s snowing hard outside and Milo, as he waits for his patty melt and Emma locks her ankle behind his under the table, wonders exactly how he’s going to get them home. He’s not that great of a driver, he knows this, and he’s worried the roads are going to be slick. Emma driving is out of the question. She’d kill someone. She’d kill someone in perfect driving conditions. Snow added to the mix is like putting a laser sight on to a .44 Magnum; the chances of death are only increased. Emma stirs another packet of sugar into her coffee and watches the probably-sixteen-year-old waitress load up their food on a tray while attempting to blow a bubble with her gum. She brings the food over and puts the patty melt in front of Milo, the Cobb salad in front of Emma. Anything else? No, we’re good, thanks. The ketchup is liberally applied. Some fries are transferred from plate to plate.
Why are you so sure?
About what?
What were we just talking-, about the aliens, Dumbo.
Why am I sure that aliens are out there?
That’s what I’m asking.
Well, it’s basically that… okay, the universe is so big and there are so many galaxies that we, as a people, haven’t explored… it just seems very unlikely that we’re the only ones here. There’s just too much space out there for it not to be occupied by at least one more civilization that has evolved to the point that we have. Maybe even beyond what we’ve achieved.
And do they have ray guns?
Why do you ask when you’re just going to make fun?
Sorry. You have a point. A small one... but, still, a point. How’s your patty melt?
Good. Wanna bite?
Eh. Nah. Fries were enough. Want some salad?
Ew, no. It’s got egg on it.
Oh, right. Yeah.
Gross.
Do you think they’re friendly?
Who? The aliens?
No, the egg. Where’s your brain tonight.
On the road, looking for ice.
What?
Nothing. Yes, I think they’re friendly.
Because the movies would suggest otherwise.
Would the movies make money if the aliens were all snuggly and pleasant? Will Smith’s got to have something to knock around during the summer movie season, ya know. But I don’t think they’re evil or murderous. Probably the closest the movies have ever gotten to accuracy on the subject is Contact, though I don’t think they’ll all show up as our Dads or anything.
Hope you’re right.
What do you care? You think I’m an idiot.
Yes, true, but occasionally idiots aren’t idiots at all; they’re just ahead of their time. While I don’t think that’s the case here, there’s still the remote possibility that you’re right and, if you are, well I’d much prefer it if the aliens were friendly.
I’d protect you.
Would you?
Yes.
With your asthma and your degree in Comparative Literature, you’d protect me?
Yes. Certainly.
You say that with a lot of conviction.
Because it’s the truth.
Because you love me more than your own life? Because if I were destroyed by the ray guns of the aliens, your life would forever be meaningless?
Also because you’re really good in bed.
Nice. Let me have a bite of your patty melt, Fearless Hero.
I though you didn’t want a bite?
The Damsel In Distress has changed her mind. Hand it over.
I save you from the aliens and you eat my food. So unfair.
Milo and Emma finish their meals and leave the diner. After Milo unlocks the passenger-side door, he grabs Emma around the waist and kisses her with a passion and fervor that he, himself, wasn’t aware he possessed. He kisses her like the aliens are landing and it’s up to him to save the day. They drive home without incident and, although the aliens never land in their lifetime, Milo continues to watch the skies for their presence and Emma remains comforted that she’d be well taken care of if they did.
posted by Clinton at 10:03 AM
5 Comments:
That was actually really good. If were some kind of magazine editor, I would surley pick that up. But I'm not, so that sucks. But I still liked it.
Also, I didn't know you're last name was Davis. Maybe when I visit NYC this year, I'll look you up.
Thanks dude, glad you liked it. Yeah, feel free to drop me a line if you're in NYC. Um... unless you're a serial killer... because if you are, I'm, like, busy that day.
Oh, so NOW you're picky?
Black17... Glad you liked it. That's an interesting idea, about putting up my play on here. I might do that, actually, but only after I've finished the final draft. I'm very picky about putting up unfinished work, you see.
Anyhow, thanks for the idea.
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