Alien Invasion
I don’t watch the news. So, it was just another day. Woke up early, washed the sleep from my eyes. My fridge was empty, my cupboards light. Time for a trip to the supermarket up the road. Five-minute walk and I’m in striding mode.
Usually it’s quiet at this hour, but today it was busy. People streamed in from side streets, joining the flow like a sudden current. Murmurs buzzed. White Tony bumped into me, wild-eyed. “You haven’t heard?” Heard what? I don’t watch the news. Then it spread like a spark.
Aliens have invaded, and their massive encampment down South spurs panic buying up North. By the time we reached the store, the crowd had swelled to a thousand. That’s when I saw them. Humanoids.
Large heads, black eyes peering through balaclavas, gripping sleek M41A Pulse Rifles. They stood motionless at the entrance — until we got within fifty meters. Then they opened fire.
Bodies dropped. Screams tore past the Etihad. People scrambled, stumbled, fell. The stench of acrid gunfire and coppery blood filled the air. As I ran, ducking behind a car, one thought cut through the drama:
now how the hell am i supposed to get food?
