1
a higher power, or whatever
If I hadto choose someplace to die, this would be it.
Maybe I wouldn’t have chosen the journey it took to get here—I’d happily skip the alien abduction and trafficking bit. But as I drift into a brightly-colored, unknown ocean, it’s pretty damn peaceful.
I learned long ago that worrying about things out of my control was useless. I could rage, scream, and slam my fist into my plastic security bubble, but it won’t make a difference.
I am going to die, and I’m going to wonder at the beauty of this place before I go. I doubt another human has seen these rainbow-hued fishlike creatures swimming by. A set of googly eyes dangle from long stalks below their torpedo-shaped bodies. Their scales glint in the sunlight as the schools float around me, almost reminding me of camera flashes back on Earth.
I take a deep breath and try to enjoy their unearthly elegance, leaning my back against the gently curving wall of my security pod.
This plastic bubble I’ve danced in has become familiar. I know every scratch and ding. Despite how much you claw at its wall, it won't open from the inside.
Whatever space-age plastic the Deenz aliens use is robust. I don’t know how much of the growing pressure it can handle as we descend further into the depths of this seemingly bottomless ocean.
The sunlight from the surface is ever waning, and the waters around me get darker and murkier the further I fall.
Another breath fills my chest as I try to quell the anxiety creeping in from the peripherals of my psyche. The school of creatures follows me like companions ushering me to the afterlife.
I put a hand against the plastic enclosure to thank them for not leaving me alone. I’ve always loved the ocean. Many of my tattoos are of underwater scenes: the coral reef on my calf, the stingray guarding my bicep, and my favorite tattoo—Aphrodite reclined on the half shell on my shoulder.
My soul has always been called to the water, so I guess this demise is fitting.
Thanks, universe, or whatever higher power controls this kind of thing.
As I try to project my gratitude to these little aquatic creatures and some higher power, I catch a flash of yellow from the corner of my eye. It moves too fast for me to get a good look. Spinning around in my bubble, I search for whatever it was.
As the school of alien fish shift suddenly to the left, I see him.
A muscular canary-yellow alien, his head full of pulsating tentacles, gapes at me. The tentacles shift as if moved by the underwater currents. They splay around his head like a lion’s mane. His strong arms and legs pump as he descends with my bubble.
I say “he” because his cock is something you really can’t miss. It isn’t hard, but still floats proudly on display. His dick’s impressive length is nestled in tentacles similar to the ones that surround his head, but they’re much shorter. Almost like if you traded out pubes for a sea anemone. I guess that makes sense since his head “hair” is also comprised of tentacles.
I wonder what that would feel like. I quickly scrub the thought from my mind.
I’m more than likely going to die, and I don’t want my last thoughts to be about alien dick.
I break my gaze from his crotch, not wanting to be a complete and total pervert. His smooth yellow skin is covered in a pattern of squiggly teal rings. He’s got the physique of an Olympic swimmer, with a broad set of shoulders tapering into powerful legs.
His eyes are blue and bore into me as if questioning my very existence.
“Hi,” I huff, taken aback by this strange alien Adonis who’s found me.
When I speak, two of his head tentacles that appear longer than the rest spring out and grip the outside of my bubble. My descent stops so rapidly that I drop to my knees like a stone.
Tentacle Man pulls me closer. The strength in those two thick appendages sends a strange thrill through me. He puts his face against the plastic and appraises me with his full lips agape.
“What are you?” He cocks his head, his deep voice muffled through the water.
“I’m Lena. I’m human,” I whisper, shocked he can speak.
He screws up his mouth and furrows his brows.
“I don’t understand you,” he says, tapping a spot in front of his ear. “I don’t have a translator chip, and I don’t think you speak Andjin. There’s no tech allowed during the Great Proving—we are only as the goddess created us.”
What in the flying fuck is the Great Proving?
