Alien Holiday by Tracy Lauren

Chapter 2

Resa

I watch as the last of the aliens linger on the hill below. Their morning exercise is over and they were on their way back to the ancient temple, but for some reason one remained and the others had to return for her. For a moment I thought she was ill. She lay there, sprawled out on the ground. Perhaps she was overworked? Though I don’t see how. The exercise they do is…slow paced to say the least. To be honest, I do not see the point of it. I’ve tried some of the motions, but they make no sense to me.

After what seems like an eternity, the females finally begin their trek away from my mountainside and I spit at the ground, glad they will be out of my sight. Until tomorrow at least. These aliens are relentless. Day in and day out they venture to the hill below my mountain. They do their pointless exercises and then back down to the temple they go. Some nights it is quiet and I can pretend they have not invaded my world, other nights they shriek like angry birds and bang on obnoxious instruments—making it impossible to sleep.

Aliens. They act as if they own this land. It is beyond rude. And as the seasons come and go, it seems they have no intention of leaving. More of them arrive all the time and never once have they come to my cave to beg permission to occupy my ancestors’ temple or to farm the lands beyond. I shake my head in dismay as the trees eventually obstruct my view of them.

Finally, I can go about my day.

They force me to stand guard over my mountain each morning—while they touch their toes and stick their asses in the air. Not that I worry about such a pathetic group, I just don’t want them wandering up here, fouling up this space my family claimed so many seasons ago. The caves here belonged to my parents and they are mine now. Gods know the aliens would only trample the vegetation and make all sorts of messes. Not to mention the noise! I wouldn’t be able to stand such a thing.

Irritated, I make the trek down a familiar rocky slope, round a corner, and duck into my parents’ cave. Thunder crashes outside. Steadily, the sky is growing dark—but inside the mountain it is even darker. It is a small cave I chose for them, but it is not far from mine and it makes visiting convenient. Running my hand along the ragged wall, I find my way to my usual stone and take a seat, allowing my eyes to adjust. Slowly, they do.

Before me stand two mounds of rock, cold and grey. Mounds that I constructed myself—first with the passing of my father and then with the passing of my mother only a short while later. It was the rainy season when it happened and that season is almost upon us now.

My family. Together, we were the last of the last. And, as far as I know, I am all that is left.

This is my morning ritual—watching those ill-bred aliens, then visiting my parents’ graves to mentally recite my mother’s favorite prayers. I used to do prayers at the start of each day but now must guard my mountain. It is terribly inconvenient. Especially when I have much to do—hunting, gathering water, stockpiling dry firewood, making repairs to my tools and weapons. The tasks are endless!

Those aliens squatting in my ancestors’ temple have no consideration for my time. Life must be easy for them with so many hands helping to do the work. But here, it is just me. I rely on no one else and if I am lazy for a day then I grow hungry and weak, which only makes the following day’s work that much harder.

I scowl and thunder crashes once more. Then, the first rain starts. It pours from the sky like a waterfall and I sigh. Hunting will not be good today. It never is during the first rains. The creatures that are best for eating are all smart enough to hide in the beginning. But time passes and the rain does not stop, and eventually they grow hungry enough to venture out.

I think of them…the forest animals. It is just the need for sustenance that draws them out, right? Or do they ever get restless? Itch to be out of the dark and lonely mountain catacombs, to finally stretch their limbs…

I move to the mouth of my parents’ cave, looking out at the grey veil the rain creates. I can’t see the temple from here or the warm glow of their fires. And rain this heavy always drowns out any sound that might be coming from the alien village—everything from the boisterous dinners they share, to their foreign tongues, and the raucous singing and laughter. It’s funny that I’ve grown grateful for weather like this, but there’s nothing I hate more than all the noise those strange aliens make. Loud, rude—that’s what they are. So, even though the hunting is bad and this is the season I lost my parents, it’s still my favorite time of the year, if only for the fact that I can close my eyes and pretend those awful aliens haven’t invaded my world.