Alien Adventures

Writers Cramp - Sci Fi Convention
Word Count - 725

I didn’t want to go. It was pretty much up there with sticking pins in my eyes or hoping I’d die a terrible death being run over by a train, never to rise again.

But what could I do? My husband was a fan of this, in my opinion, stupid sci-fi show about bizarre aliens and their day-to-day problems, joys, challenges, and quite overly dramatic inter-galactic issues with other pathetic species whose outfits rivaled those of many has-been bands of the 70s and 80s.

We arrived at the gate as he handed over a whopping seventy dollars that I thought could have been better spent at the sushi restaurant down the street or at our local summer art-in-the-park theatre, but I remained silent as our hands were stamped with little green antennae-donned creatures that waved a silent hello.

The alien-garbed ticket clerk said something that sounded like, “Eat a yellow potato”, and my husband responded with something similar to, “The noodles are drowning in the cement of lands long gone.”

Me, I just smiled and nodded and hoped the fire alarm would go off, requiring the entire building to be cleared for the next century.

As we entered the arena I was stunned by the number of people, or what I assumed was people, adorned in the native dress of their favorite character, or perhaps species. As we moved toward the first exhibit of alien prospectors from the said favorite show of my loved-one, a purple faced creature with long, floppy ears and nails that would rival a Trump wife bowed and welcomed us to the land-of-that-from-which-we-may-never-return. I bowed back, admiring the manicure and lemon-shaded hair that fell in perfect waves as I thanked the creature for its welcome and communicated my hope that we would indeed return, as soon as possible, to where we belonged in this universe.

As my husband chatted with the alien prospectors I took a few minutes to observe the truly unbelievable events surrounding me. I saw alien warriors demonstrating space-aged fighting techniques and two-headed trolls fighting for political dominance. As I strolled farther along the exhibits, I was confronted by what may have been a hobbit selling bubble gum cards and asked if I wanted my fortune read by a 6-handed, double-winged fairy. The overhead neon sign flashed that autographs of an alien actor long past his prime were available on the main stage for a mere fifty dollars each or for just twenty dollars a standard pre-printed copy was available.

I turned as my husband approached, waving an autographed picture of his favorite prospector, his eyes as bright as a kid’s on Christmas morning and I wondered how I was going to possibly endure another 3 hours of wandering this land of ludicrous characters and overpriced, useless merchandise.

As he showed me his picture, he asked if I had seen the Marloreean jewelry collection yet and not knowing what he was referring to, suggested we meander over to where it was located. Anything with jewelry in its name had to be more interesting than costumed hobbits and trolls trying to sell their wares. When I asked him what he meant by Marloreean he informed me it was a rare species off the shores of Letrinia on the planet Rofina that harvested natural gems and created inter-planetary award-winning designs. I rolled my eyes and considered leaving right then and there until I looked ahead and saw to my amazement a brilliant display of bracelets, necklaces and purses unlike any I had ever seen before. Out of the corner of my eye, I even noticed a little collection of rather funky shoes that I wanted to take a closer look at.

My husband, the wonderful man that he is, suggested I remain in Maloreea for an hour or so while he investigated the line-up for the has-been actor who obviously needed a little cash.

Two hours later we left, each of us quite happy, my husband with his pricey autographed picture and desert warrior costume, and me with my traditional Maloreean earrings, Rofina sandals and Letrinian beach handbag.

And on our way out the door when that same alien-cloaked greeter that welcomed us said something like, “Sand is red and tomatoes will wither on your stallion”, I couldn’t help but smile, wave and tell him to “Live long and prosper.”