Writing Prompt #97 — Persecution of the Abnormalities

Prompt: Aliens are stunned by the thought of “Therapists” and “therapy”. No other species has ever thought about solving individual problems together and as such most aliens believe that this is a trait unique to humans and have begun abducting random humans to deal with their emotional baggage.

One second I was walking back home from the bar at night, the next a flash of light blinds me. When I opened me eyes I stood in a bare, metallic oval-shaped room. A voice echoed from everywhere, even though I couldn’t find any openings in the metal. It spoke in an odd language, not one I’d ever heard before. It was more foreign than foreign language, as if it was so far removed from the spoken word that no one would understand it.

White noise scratched out the voice, then the voice returned but in English. “—and life is so terribly cold, so terribly alone here and out there. The only contact I receive are from individuals who are even colder than space itself. It’s like speaking to a Galaxian or a Glisean, or even worse, a Kelperian… They’re awful little things, each race and species and… I apologize, I am rambling—”

I don’t know if it was the booze or what, but I wasn’t afraid at all. It felt like I was standing outside myself, watching as I idly stared around the polished room, listening to whoever or whatever spiel about its troubles. I wanted to say something but couldn’t decide on what. Do I ask what I was doing there? Do I ask what is speaking? Do I ask what was the light or this place or what a Glisean even is? So instead of deciding, I just blurted out, “How come?”

“You… You people ask the difficult questions, no? How come? Such a simple question, yet not such a simple answer. Millions of answers could be given. I think I’ll list them, isn’t that what your people do? Make lists? ‘Vent’? One: I alone work this craft. Two: Our race are individualistic and coupling of any sort is unheard of. Three: Due to the incapabilities of coupling, I am terribly alone and terribly sad. Four: Our race’s emotional spectrum is quite low, almost nonexistent. It’s unheard of and unspoken of those with emotions, with an abnormally amount of emotions, like I possess. Five: There are no places for us, the abnormal to speak of these things that weigh upon me like Sextanian steel. Six:—”

“OK, OK,” I said, putting up my hands as if whatever it is was there or could see me. “I get it. You’re alone and have no one to talk to. Everyone’s alone sometimes. It gets better—”

Its voice blared, reverberating off the metal, pounding into my ears. “IT DOES NOT GET BETTER. IT DOES NOT AND HAS NOT AND NEVER WILL BE BETTER. LIFE IS AN ENDLESS EMPTINESS, LIKE THE DRONING OF AN OGLEIR AND THERE IS NOTHING THAT CAN BE DONE BUT TO BE SILENT AND CONTINUE FORWARD BECAUSE THAT IS WHAT WE WERE MEANT TO DO, WHAT WE WERE CREATED TO DO.”

I gripped the sides of my head and knelt, gritting my teeth, as blood spurted from my nose. “OK! OK! Fine!” I shouted into the blaring. “Life sucks! I get it!” The voice silenced. I slowly stood and wiped the blood dripping into my mouth on my sleeve. “Why don’t you just leave, then?”

“I’m unable to.”

“But isn’t this your ship?”

“Yes, but I’m unable to.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m unable to.”

“But why? There has to be a reason.”

“Bygnus does not tolerate those who leave.”

“Who’s Bi-gen-us?”

“Our Creator.”

“But if he doesn’t tolerate ‘those who leave,’ what could he do once you’re gone?”

It was still for a moment, two. I started to think whatever it was had left and I was going to be stuck in that gray metal room forever.

Then, “I do not know. No one ever leaves.”

“Well you could be the first… You could be the first and those who’re like you might follow, and you could find someplace, somewhere, for those like you to be able to talk about your feelings and things.”

“Perhaps,” it said, quickly. More silence followed, then: “Perhaps you are correct. Perhaps I can be the first… Yes, yes… I can be the first of the abnormal to lead the other abnormalities to a place billi-light years away, where Bygnus would not dare follow, would not dare bother. And, then, we abnormalities can speak freely, speak safely, without persecution or being labeled abnormal. We can be normal.”

“Yeah!” I shouted, cheering. “Do it! Go for it!”

“I will,” it said, “and my thanks to you. Salutations.”

“Wait, what—” Blinding white light exploded in the room and when it dissipated, I was standing back on the sidewalk. It was still night. I looked up into the starry sky and wondered what the hell happened, then shook my head, belched, and continued on my way back home.

 

Read my previous prompt, “It’s Working As Intended.”

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