Sunday, January 7, 2018

407: Departures

I can’t imagine how you would react if you were to come upon C.W. in his actual form. Shocked, terrified, nauseated are a few words that come to mind. I had known him for maybe a year before he allowed me to see him. Even then, he prepared me by showing some images of his native planet, Falloonia.

That is, of course, why he was granted the power to change shapes before mingling with us. I’m thankful for it. At any rate, I caught him “in-real” as he prefers to call it. He was standing in a large open space at our farm standing motionless with four of his arms to his side and two pointed toward the sky.

“What the … ?”

“Quiet,” Middle Head said, “We’re in practice mode.” I watched as he stood rock-still for several minutes. Then the four hands hanging to his side began to rise. As they reached a perpendicular position, six of the fingers on each hand folded and left one finger extended, making a sign quite resembling one that we use to insult one another. I watched in utter confusion. Was this some religious ritual hitherto unmentioned? I do get the feeling from time to time that he has not told me everything about his mission to Earth.

The four arms finished rising and all six now pointed upwards. Left Head said, “Kthufckowt.” It looked toward Middle Head.

Right Head said, “Kthufckowt,” and looked toward Middle Head.

Middle Head repeated the word and all three trembled for nearly a minute, following which they all looked at me. “Hey Big Dope,” Middle Head said. “What’s up?” All three made the Falloonian facial gesture signifying, as they have taught me, a smile of friendly greeting.

Before could answer, the three of them, all together and all at once, said, “Wait one.” I watched as he moved, best described as sort of a floating wobble, to a nearby storage building. He moved behind it an emerged shortly thereafter as, are you ready? The Galilean.

“Blessings to you, brother,” he said as he approached me.

“What the hell?”

“Oh that what you just saw?” He smiled. “We call it a ‘Trump Drill,’ and have to practice it every day. That’s simply the posture we must assume when they send the Retrieval Beams for us.”

“A Trump Drill?”


“Care to explain?”

He smoothed a wrinkle in his robe. “Don’t you read the papers?” Before I could answer, he said, “The Falloonian Elders do. Verily I say, they have ordered preparations for a fast exit.”

“A fast exit from where?”

“Here,” he said, looking surprised, “And we must be prepared. Last time we were being called back for a conference, Left Head sneezed, and Right Head got sent to Alabama.” He smiled. “It took us a month to find him and two weeks of re-programming, You remember, don’t you?”

“Was that the time you showed up as Karl the KKK-Man?”

He blushed. “We don’t talk about Karl.”

“Why the practice now?”

He cocked his head in confusion. His long hair fell in front of his face and he brushed it aside. “I asked you once. Don’t you read the papers?”

“Yes, but ….”

“We’ve seen this sort of thing before,” he said. “A combination of knowledge without foresight and power without morality is a deadly combination. How do you think asteroids get formed?’

“So, you assume the position. To depart, that is?”

Fulfillment of prophecy, or big mistake? - C.W.
“As in, ‘He’s about to do it, get your ass ready to flee the premises’ immediately. The thought of it makes me sad, but I follow orders.”

“They are worried, the Elders?”

“Verily I say unto you,” he repeated, “The unleashing of raging demons, gorged from feasting upon power, and lacking the balm of reason, can cause the most sanguine of minds to tremble and the strongest of hearts to fill with despair.”

“Don’t they see that we despair as well?”

“Unfortunately no,” he said. I noticed a tone of gravity in his voice. “I’ve been studying the beliefs of the followers of what we call ‘the Current Occupants.’”


“They are quite excited about it all. Something about the ‘fulfillment of prophecy.’ I can’t imagine where they get such ideas.”

I started to say something, but thought better of it. Instead, I said, “So you were practicing the ritual you must perform when being taken home?”

His face turned to me at a slight angle, and his dark eyes glistened. “I sort of like to think I have been at home these many years,” he said. “But yes, that’s how I would catch the Retrieval Beam for, sad to say, my return to Falloonia. If sanity were to return, so shall I.”

That put me in a pensive mood. “You like it here?”

“We’ve never produced a Schubert or a Van Gogh in Falloonia,” he said, adding, “We don’t have ‘The Big Bang Theory’ either. He wiped away a tear. “I’ll miss Penny.”

“I guess we all will,” I said.

See also:
Delta Dreaming
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