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The scenery of the forest that day was perfectly picturesque. Dappled sunlight shining through vibrant green leaves, a light breeze carrying birdsong through the trees. Even a man as cynical as Spamton might have appreciated it if he had been in a better mood. As things were, though, he preferred to taint the pristine image with mumbled curses and rocks kicked against exposed roots. The world shouldn't be having a good day while he's having a crappy one.
Not that he had anything new to complain about. Just his shitty brothers telling him his ideas suck for the billionth time. So what if their way of doing business worked? It was stale! They could be rolling in dough if they would try something new and bold! But those cowards would rather die than leave their comfort zone.
Though perhaps Spamton was a hypocrite for complaining about them sticking to old habits. He was blowing off steam the exact same way he always did, after all.
He finally broke through the thick of the trees and into a large clearing. This was his place. His home away from home. A strange patch of missing trees in the middle of the forest. There were some large boulders here, larger than anything he could find elsewhere in the woods. They were the perfect size for climbing on, for jumping off of, for reclining on until he fell asleep and woke up with a sunburn. One pile of rocks had always struck him as vaguely humanoid, though the figure was missing a head. Sometimes he would vent his frustrations to it. The familiar sight of it greeted him like an old friend.
But today, he froze as he entered his sacred space. Something was... off. He took mental inventory. The rocks looked the same as always. The trees were untouched. What else was there?
...It was the grass. No other human knew about this place, as far as Spamton knew. Yet it looked like someone had cut the grass in places. Not like someone had taken a lawnmower to the whole space; no, there were still plenty of untrimmed blades, as long and wild as the last time he'd seen them, but some areas had clearly been cut. Spamton climbed up onto the tallest rock he could reach and looked around. It seemed like there was some sort of pattern cut into the grass, but he couldn't parse what it was from his vantage point.
Spamton looked around. He stood still and listened, but he heard nothing but birds and rustling leaves. Then he let himself get angry. Someone had fucked with his place! And given that they weren't here to laugh at his distress or throw it in his face, they probably didn't even know it was his! Dammit, he should have carved his name into a tree or something!
In his anger, he didn't pay any mind when the sun above him was blotted out, the shade cooling his skin. He'd been too busy kicking rocks that day to have noticed the cloudless sky.
One moment, he was standing on a rock, alone in a forest clearing, cursing whoever desecrated his sacred space. The next, he was facing a giant figure that seemed to have appeared out of thin air. It was a good thing the shock stole his breath or he would have given himself away by screaming. He nearly revealed himself anyway when he fell backwards over the rock he had been standing on, toppling over in his scramble to retreat. Thankfully, he thought as he peered around the boulder, it seemed he had gone unnoticed.
Time seemed to slow down as he took in the surreal sight before him. The thing standing in his field looked like a man at first glance, but was three times too tall. It was bulky, covered in some kind of white material and lavender-tinted metal, like a giant astronaut suit. As he looked up towards the head, his attention was drawn to the sky, and to the enormous metal construct hovering overhead. He supposed his questions as to where this monster had come from had been answered.
He felt his heart seize in his chest as the creature turned and what must have been its face came into view. On the front of the boxy shape that made up its... head? Helmet? There was a square panel displaying only an ominous white glow. Combined with the two antennae that topped the structure, it looked almost like a television. What it didn't look like was anything remotely human. Spamton wondered if this was his first glimpse of the end of the world.
The... alien (he supposed it must be) seemed more lively than he would have anticipated such a large and unwieldy-looking thing to be. It turned its head this way and that more quickly than seemed comfortable, and then it... started jumping up and down. Stomping all over his field's grass- he bet that fucker was the one who cut the grass in the first place! How was he going to get revenge on a massive alien? Life was so unfair.
Getting lost in his revenge fantasies would prove to be Spamton's fatal error, as the return to a familiar way of thinking caused enough tension to leave his body that, when a loud, harsh noise erupted from the alien's form, he failed to stop the gasp from leaving his throat as he jumped. He froze, holding his breath, immediately after, but it was too late. He'd been heard.
The creature spun around, its glowing face illuminating Spamton's and making him look even more ghostly pale than he already was. More harsh noises came from what sounded like a speaker built into the thing's suit. It sounded vaguely like vocalizations, but not like words in any language he had ever heard before. Spamton slowly backed away as the creature stared at him. It wasn't attempting to grab him, which seemed like a good sign. Instead, it was tapping something on its wrist.
Suddenly, a sharp hiss of air escaped from somewhere around the creature's neck. It reached up and turned what was apparently a helmet before slowly pulling it off to reveal the alien underneath...
It looked vaguely cat-like. But its fur was glowing white, and it had a strange proboscis instead of a nose. It lacked eyes entirely, and on top of its head were two antennae with glowing star-shaped baubles like something out of a cartoon. Attached to a seemingly humanoid body, it all looked... well, alien.
The alien opened its mouth and out came more unrecognizable vocalizations, though the sound was a lot less jarring when not filtered through a low-quality speaker.
Not wanting to anger the creature, Spamton hesitantly returned the attempt at communication. "Uhh... Hi there..." He waved a hand meekly.
The creature kneeled down, set its helmet on the ground, looked at its own glove, and mimicked the movement, though its motions were stilted and awkward. That made sense, Spamton thought distantly. It would be a crazy coincidence if this alien's society waved their hands to greet others too.
When Spamton didn't continue speaking, the alien took its turn. It babbled some more nonsensical-sounding noises as it pointed to its ears, then Spamton's ears. Then to its proboscis, then Spamton's nose. Then to its hand, then Spamton's hand. All the while, its antennae were wiggling away distractingly above its head.
"Uh, yeah," Spamton said slowly, placatingly, "We sure do have a lot of similarities." He mumbled under his breath, "You should see a cat, though, now that's an impressive coincidence."
It was hard to read the alien's eyeless expression. Spamton could only wonder if they were having a one-sided conversation or if the alien felt as lost as he did.
The alien made some more noises and tapped at its wrist again. In a flash, the massive UFO above them vanished. Spamton didn't know whether to feel relieved or concerned, especially given that the alien hadn't left with the machine. He should probably try to get home, he thought, in case he needs to warn his brothers about an incoming alien invasion. They wouldn't believe him, of course, but he would want to be able to say "I told you so" when the end-times came.
Spamton began to slowly back away again while the alien's attention was on its wrist. When it looked back up at him, he froze, waiting to gauge its reaction.
To his horror, the creature stood up and closed the distance between them. It didn't seem offended, and it still wasn't grabbing at him, but it was clear the creature's attention was on him and him alone. Was he really so much more interesting than the bugs and the birds and the squirrels? (He would usually hope so, but not in this moment.)
He decided to take a risk. Throwing caution to the wind, Spamton dove into the trees and ran. He heard the crashing of giant feet behind him. Branches and leaves came raining down on his head as hands as big as his torso shoved the treetops out of the way. He only ran for about twenty seconds before skidding to a halt, the alien still right on his tail. It stopped when he did, apparently waiting patiently for him to continue.
Of course he couldn't lose it in the trees. It didn't have eyes. However it was sensing him, it must have been using echolocation or vibrations or something. Or maybe that proboscis could just smell really well. Spamton was wearing a pretty powerful cologne.
It was becoming increasingly clear that Spamton had gained a permanent straggler, or at least one he would be stuck with until it got bored or the military found out and took care of it. Absurd as it was, there was one mundane worry at the forefront of his mind.
His brothers were going to kill him.
Alien Tenna:
