Allen the Alien, Chapter 1

Allen realized at once that he was not like the others. Would they notice? From the images they’d seen from the starship, it had been clear that these earthlings looked very much like themselves — amazing to discover that life appeared on this planet in a form similar to their own — but the small differences had not been obvious.

He sidled up to another duck who was not quite like the others.

“Hi! I’m Allen,” Allen said. “I’m, um, new around here.”

The other duck looked him over, his eyes lingering on Allen’s antennae and his almond eyes.

“Good to meet you. I’m Duckzilla,” said the other duck, who had spiky scales on his head and down his back. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”

Now Allen faced a decision. Should he explain that he was an emissary, one of a team of travelers from another star system? Or should he withhold that information until he could ascertain whether this “Earth” had a civilization advanced enough to accept a visitor from outer space?

He chose caution.

“So what’s it like around here?” Allen asked as if he was a newcomer hoping to settle and assimilate.

“Oh, we’re ducks,” Duckzilla said warily. “I’d guess we’re the same everywhere.”

“You’d be surprised,” said Allen. “What do you folks do for fun?”

“We line up in a row a lot,” said another duck nearby. “Hi, I’m Griselda. Where are you from? I don’t recognize the accent.”

“I come from a long way away,” Allen smiled. “You’ve probably never heard of it.”

“Try me,” Griselda said sweetly.

Allen thought of the farthest place he could imagine on the other side of this planet. “It’s near a city called Osaka.”

“I knew it!” Griselda squealed. “I thought you kind of looked Japanese.”

Duckzilla looked at her askance. “Trust me, Griselda, he doesn’t look Japanese at all.”

There was an awkward silence.

Inspiration

“This is the beginning of what comes next,” he said as the wind blew. “I look around this world, and I know it doesn’t have to be this way.”

“And so —?” she asked.

“I can imagine everything changing,” he said, gesturing. “I see these things there and those things here and that whole section gone entirely.”

“And where am I in all this?” she asked wildly.

“You,” he said, drawing her near, “are everywhere.”

And we danced till quarter to three

“It’s getting to the point where I’m no fun anymore,” he said sadly, scanning the horizon for who knows what. “I am sorry —”

“Stop talking,” I said. “One more word and we’re looking at a plagiarism lawsuit, and lawyers and guns and money.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Come on. Stephen Stills, 1969,” I said. “Be honest — were you about to say it hurts so badly you must cry out loud?”

He stared at me blankly. “No,” he said after too long a pause, and we both chuckled. “How did you know?”

“You’re like me,” I said. “When you’re depressed, you find comfort in old song lyrics.” I put my arms around him and gave him a big hug. “Try this instead.”

“Hmmm,” he purred. “OK, that settles it. I’m finding a job tomorrow morning — I got a little something I want to do. I’m going to buy you pretty presents, just like the ones in the catalog —”

I groaned and hit him with a pillow. What happened next is frankly none of your business.