“You’ve got to help me,” he said breathlessly.
Being still stunned, I simply looked at him. He put an ear to the door and listened. He was in a blue workman’s outfit with a nametag stating, “C.W. – Prophet” over the pocket. After a few moments, he relaxed and turned toward me, leaning his back against the door. “Thought I was a goner,” he said.
He continued to catch his breath. When it became apparent that no one was following, he walked to a chair, sat, and began to explain.
“It all started with an assignment from the Falloonian Elders,” he said.
“To report on all the furor your species has created over gun control.” He took a breath. “It’s not the first time, you know.”
“So …, my conclusion was that guns are not your problem.”
“No, your problem is your reliance on violence as the method of choice for conflict resolution, your distrust of strangers, and a general hatred of folks outside your immediate tribe. Guns are simply the easiest tool for the otherwise powerless.” He paused. “The distrust is significant. There are even entire cities, you know, where everyone there is just like everyone else there.”
“Go on,” I said.
“Well,” he said. “I didn’t leave it at that. No. I decided that what your species badly needs is a communal philosophy that counteracts these impulses.” He looked at the floor. “And, that I could design such a philosophy and spread it.”
Now I was getting interested. “So?”
“The philosophy was simple,” he said. “It would urge people to honor peacemakers, the merciful, the pure in heart, the poor in spirit, and those who comfort one another instead of blowing them away.” He looked at me for approval. “Those are the main ones. There are more. Oh, there’s also the admonition not to condemn others—say for their sexuality—so that you won’t be judged for your own sexual habits.” He smiled. “I like that one.”
“C.W.” I said. “That all sounds vaguely familiar.”
“Oh, I borrowed much of it from an old body of teachings by a group once quite prevalent in your country. It has dwindled now to a few small bands, mostly elderly, and a few so-called filthy liberals.”
“So, how it is going?”
“Not good,” he said. “I decided to try it out.”
“Try it out?”
“Yes, I saw where a large group had gathered in some huge building out on the interstate, so I assumed my most charming form and asked if I could deliver a message to them.”
“I had to bribe them with something called a ‘love offering’ but they finally allowed it.”
“I got about halfway through and they began to fidget.”
“I saw the flash of a pistol barrel. Then another. And another.”
“I got the hell out of there. They formed a mob and chased me here.”
“The congregation chased you here?”
As it is written:
We played the flute for you, and
You did not dance;
We wailed, and you did not
-The Alien C.W.
“All the way. I was terrified.”
“They wanted to harm you?”
“Harm me?” he said with alarm. “I think they wanted to crucify me!”