The paper made a resounding thwap as it penetrated against the screen door. Jerry Pinfrock opened the door of his 1970’s trailer, parked in an abandoned lot in Newark, New Jersey. He was a portly man of 42 or 43, yellow marks on his white tee-shirt from who knows what, a growing bald patch on the top of his head, and short stubby legs that made him somewhat duck-footed. He might have seemed comical if not for the scowl glued to his face. As it was, that scowl made him notoriously standoffish. A cigarette which had long since been smoked protruded from his lips as he bent down to pick up the newspaper. He went back inside his trailer, his feet making a rustling sound on the orange shag carpet. In the background, the noise of a shower could be heard.
The cigarette dropped from his lips in an overly dramatic display of disbelief. His scowl deepened and he shouted, “Honey, you aren't going to believe this!”
“What? I cen't heah ya, babe, Oim in the showah,” came a hoarse voice with a thick New Jersey accent.
Jerry rolled his eyes, “No shit honey. But those assholes next door stole our front page again. How am I supposed to know what's going on in the world without my front page?”
“Why don't you try the television?”
“That's not the point Harriet! It's about my dignity.” Jerry puffed out his chest, making him even portlier.
“Well fine then, no need to git awll snahky. Why don't you go over thire and give thim a piece of your moind?”
“Maybe I will.”
“Fine then, go, see what I cere!
“Would you shut your trap already, I'm leaving.” Jerry threw on his $2 flipflops, lit another cigarette, and made sure to slam the screen door as he exited. He walked across the lot to an ugly brown shack on the other side. He pounded on the door with his rounded fists. The door creaked open just enough to let a sliver of light into the house, but not enough that Jerry could see into the room beyond.
A brown eye attached to a portion of a brown face peaked into the light from behind the door, “What is it Pinfrock?” asked a shaking voice.
“I want the meaning of all this,” he responded, the cigarette shaking ash everywhere as he held up the paper.
The mysterious person replied, “Now? Right now, you want to know where your front page is, at a time like this?”
“Sure, why not? Now is as good a time as any.”
“We shouldn't talk anymore out in the open like this. I'll get your damn page.” The door shut, Jerry stood outside scowling at the door with his rapidly disintegrating cigarette between his lips for a few minutes. The door creaked open and a shuddering brown hand shoved the piece of off-white paper into Jerry's chest before skittering back behind the door to slam once more.
“Asshole,” scowled Jerry before opening the paper. The headlines read, “RUN FOR YOUR LIVES: INVASION FROM OUTER SPACE.”
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Genevieve Smalls posed for the camera, her long legs spidered outward in the designer heels she was modelling. Being a leg model had its perks such as money and strange leg product endorsements, but mostly it was enjoyable because of the poses. Genevieve got a (pardon the pun) kick out of it. Flashing her unearthly legs for bright lights and admiring cameras was a feeling like nothing else. Today’s photo shoot was for Nair, and Genevieve modelled her lengthy legs for the camera, careful not to display anything above the waist.
Genevieve finished the shoot, grabbed her paycheck from the directer, and headed out on the streets of New York City, a place she had always dreamed of living. However, being out on the streets was hard for Genevieve as she attracted a lot of stares. Not at her legs like she was used to (she was careful to cover up her most valuable asset) but at her face. It was an unusual face, to be sure, but nothing like those back home. Today’s stares were no different.
“Mommy look at that!” A little boy shouted up at Genevieve, pointing at her face.
The mother quickly hushed her child and began apologizing to Genevieve, “I’m so sorry, my son is terribly rude, I’ve been trying to teach him more about your kind, but he doesn’t understand.”
“What do you mean, ‘my kind?’” Genevieve crossed her arms and stared down at the woman with seething hatred at her prejudices.
The frumpy mother, realizing her mistake, became flushed and spoke with a stuttering tongue, “I just meant, well you know, how you aren’t, umm, from around here?”
“And what exactly have you been teaching your son?”
“Umm, that ever since your kind came here things have been different, not bad of course, just different. And my family has had to make some, well, some adjustments. You understand don’t you?”
“Then you had better also teach him that pointing and staring is rude. He should learn that we are here to stay and that we mean to blend in with the melting pot which America is famous for. ‘My kind,’ as you call them, is just trying to get through life, same as you.”
“Of course. I’m sorry.”
Genevieve harrumphed and walked away. She loved making earthlings feel uncomfortable.
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Harriet Pinfrock got out of the shower, and wrapped an old, somewhat moldy bathrobe around her body. Perhaps once considered pretty, now cigarettes and too much makeup clouded her appearances. Her hair was colored some strange shade of blonde that was only natural on certain breeds of camels. Looking around the trailer for her husband, she realized he must have gone to the neighbors to get his front page back. She slipped on matching moldy slippers and opened the door.
“Babee, wheah ah you?”
She walked onto the open lot toward the brown shack but instead of seeing a brown shack, there was a huge, shiny, metallic ship. Next to it stood her husband, reading the headlines of the paper, seeming not to have noticed the alien ship right next him. Part of the metal began extending outward, like some kind of door opening, and out through the door came a tall, long legged, human like creature. Human in every way except for the face. The creature noticed Harriet and came forward.
“Excuse me,” it said very properly and most likely female, “can you tell me how to get to New York from here? Someone didn’t want to stop for directions.”
Harriet gaped, “Oh! Moiy! Gawd!”
THE END
