The Time I Met An Alien

Declan is working hard to live the life he wants. But his plans foil when he meets an unexpected stranger.

This week has been pretty hectic; might be posting every Sunday instead of Saturday. Starting a new story! Enjoy!

I wake to the sounds of an explosion.

Loud, ear-crippling waves of explosions. The odd thing is that I don’t feel any pain. I feel warm inside. Another odd thing; it won’t stop. It sounds a lot like a radio stuck on repeat. The exact same noise playing once more. Then again and again and again. Over and over and over boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom—

Groaning, I slap my alarm clock so it stops.

I rub my eyes, forcing myself to sit up. I slept in my work clothes. Again. My green apron is still tied tight to my waist and on top of that, I slept with jeans on. I hate sleeping with jeans on.

For one filthy moment, I stare at my hands, blinking slowly. My hair—I forgot to brush it again—curls around my ears, unmoving hence the fact that they’re probably all knotted up. Again. My head pounds from last night’s shift. My eyes are sore. Hell, my whole body is sore. I almost lie back down, but I’m quite aware that I will most definitely fall asleep again if I do.

I turn to my clock.

And my eyes must bulge out of my head.

I jump out of bed, and I’m too panicked to stop myself from screaming “Goddammit, I’m late—”

…

Ristorante Stravagante is jam-packed.

Which would be a good thing, if I wasn’t busy still forcing the sleep out of my eyes. The fact that I’m late already means that I’ll be getting lower than my usual paycheck. Again.

The circular tables are crowded with people, all paying no mind to each other. Each of their eyes is glued to their phones, all flashing bright blue lights. They’re looking at their stocks, I can already tell. Of course, they are. They must be filthy rich to be eating here.

I take a look at myself in one of the plate’s reflections—yes, that’s how shiny they are.

I was barely able to brush through the tangles of liver-brown hair. My face seems even more swollen than yesterday. The platinum gray of my eyes is more pronounced from the purple of what looks like eye bags. My collar is stuck out, so I quickly tuck it back in. There’s Cheeto powder on my lower lip and I wipe it away hastily.

In other words; I. Am. Tired.

I’m almost inside the kitchen, without getting caught, when the familiar sound of clearing a throat makes me freeze.

“Mr. Declan Damaris. Late again, are we?”

Turning, shame burning down my neck, through my heart, I cough. “Yeah.”

He laughs. “‘Yeah?’”

I shake my head. “I mean; yes, Mr. Anton.”

Anton O’Moore. In other words, the powerful and unfairly rich manager of Ristorante Stravagante.

He walks up to me, and every beating organ in my body seems to freeze. “You do understand that you’re late for the fourth time this week.”

Again, I scold myself. “Yes, Mr. Anton.”

He smiles and I swear to God there is pure venom in each gleaming tooth he shows. “You do understand that if I catch you slacking one more time,” he holds out one porky finger. “I will have you fired in humiliation?” He drags that finger across his throat. “And you will be on the streets, like a dog, begging for change? Need I remind your lazy ass—” He calms himself a little after swearing. “That you are the youngest waiter here, meaning everyone in the kitchen has eyes on you, Mr. Declan Damaris? Do you understand, that it is out of my last shred of mercy, that I let you work here, let you slouch like you young people do? Do you understand that if I see one more failure,” he grabs my collar. “I will ensure you never step foot in my restaurant again, Mr. Declan Damaris?”

I swallow. My whole body is shaking with shame.

Slowly, I nod. “Yes sir.”

…

“Welcome to Ristorante Stravagante,” I make sure I smile. “Are you two ready to order?”

The woman takes a while to finally pry her eyes off of the phone. Her stocks are skyrocketing. “Yeah, sure; Ma, what do you want?”

Across the table, an old woman smiles up at me, green eyes twinkling. Oddly, she holds no phone. “I’d like chicken nuggets.”

The woman clicks her tongue. “It’s an Italian restaurant, ma—”

“And it’s my birthday, Abby,” she replies.

Abby looks up at her angrily. “I didn’t take you here just so you could—”

“Um, I can see what we have, ma’am.” I try, scribbling it onto my notepad. “We can get your mom that.”

The old woman looks delighted. Abby looks mildly irritated.

Before I turn to leave, the old lady calls me over, motioning for me to bend down. “You’re eighteen?” She says, taking a long look at me as Abby returns to her phone.

“Nineteen, ma’am,” I smile.

Her eyes sparkle with something. She glances at my name tag. “You’re a hard-working boy, Declan. I like people who are hard-working.” She pinches my cheek.

I don’t think she realized how much I needed to hear that. I’m utterly flattered. “I do my best, ma’am. Happy birthday.”

When I reach the kitchen to slide the piece of paper in, I feel everyone’s disappointment. The conversation they seemed to be having tones down. Some of them give me a long side-eye.

I’m grateful when Korren, the only waiter who’s also pretty young to be working here—only a year older than me—drapes an arm around my shoulder. “Dude, Anton is pissed about you.”

I sigh as we both move back to the tables. “I’m aware.”

“What happened this time?” He crosses his arm.

“I—”

“You had to do homework?”

“No, I—”

“You’re apron was missing?”

“I didn’t—”

“Your pants were missing?”

“What? No—”

“You had a girl over?”

“I’ve don’t even—”

“You went over to the girl—?”

“I overslept,” I snap. “God.”

He shrugs. His eyes seem to light up with something like he’s remembered. “Did you check out the news?”

I roll my eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t have time for that. I was too busy driving here at full speed while changing my clothes.”

He frowns. “How did change your—”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Korren scoffs with a smile. “Okay, but the news said that there was this weird aircraft that was found near this very restaurant. The aircraft wasn’t even man-made.”

Oh my god. “Korren, not again—”

“I’m telling you, Dec,” he shakes his head. “That aircraft was most definitely an alien’s. You would believe me if you saw the news.”

I look over at the table where they wave at me to come get their order. “Okay, I don’t have time for—”

“By the way, I’m sleeping over at your apartment.”

“What? Why?”

“My mom decided to kick me out.”

“Korren, you’re twenty—”

“Exactly! That’s what I said!”

I sigh. “Sometimes, I don’t even know how you’re a waiter here.”

He laughs. “At least I don’t oversleep.”

He sprints away with a chuckle before I can punch him.

…

It’s the middle of the night.

The last customer finally leaves.

Mr. Anton said that the only way to repay my mistake of arriving early was to wash all the dishes.

I rub the sleep out my eyes for the fourth time, scrubbing a pan.

The kitchen is so quiet that you could hear water leaking from somewhere.

Sweat clings to my skin, making the apron stick. I sigh out loud as I look back at the hundreds of other dishes that need washing.

I remember wanting to do this.

I remember wanting to work hard so one day, I could be part of the elite.

Since 2024, stocks have slowly been becoming the new way to make money. Big risks for big earnings. The small investors, like my family, made small payments, earning little pay. They were classified as the middle class.

The high class, like the people who eat at restaurants like these, like Abby, are the big investors. They worked their asses off and now relish in the success. Some big investors ended up losing way too much money. Some lose. Some win. It was that simple. It was all about luck, and studying the market.

My parents, who live in California, can’t afford to pay for my college. I wasn’t going to quit there, living the rest of my life classified as lower class.

I took a plane to New York, the biggest Investing Community. I got a job interview. With a few connections and an ass load of luck, I got the job to work here under the strict care of Mr. Anton, a big investor in New York. I live in an apartment, waiting for something big. Waiting for my moment to finally go to college, where I can study business and make myself known. Make myself rich. Rich so I don’t have to sulk under assholes like Mr. Anton and Abby.

The year is 2052, and the only thing that matters now is how much money you possess.

The thumps of footsteps make me freeze. I turn, looking through the door’s window.

I close the faucet and shake my hands, water sprinkling around the sink. “Hello?” I call, pushing the doors open. “Sorry, um, we’re closed—”

I pause mid-step, as a terrible realization washes over me.

I locked the doors.

I locked the restaurant doors.

Nobody can come in.

Who just came in?

With shaking hands, I reach for the flashlight hooked to my belt. I slap it once before shining it around. “Mr. Anton?” I whisper—I don’t know why I’m whispering it, but I’m too terrified to speak loudly at the moment.

My heart begins to speed. I breathe. I calm down.

The restaurant is suddenly so much darker. So much more horrifying.

Someone—

taps—

my—

shoulder—

I whirl around and punch the first thing I see.

My fist meets someone’s nose and there’s a moment where I’m like hell yes. That was badass.

And then a familiar voice groans. “Owwww, man.”

I exhale, shining the flashlight straight at his bruising face. “Korren?”

He slaps the flashlight away from his face and rubs his nose. “Dude, what the actual hell is wrong with you?”

I scoff, suddenly not as scared anymore. “Me? Who the hell walks inside in the middle of the night without making yourself known? I freaking thought you were an intruder—” I pause. “Wait, how did you get in? I have the keys.”

Korren is still massaging his probably broken nose when he says, “The door was unlocked?”

We both go quiet with realization.

Someone else is here.

Korren brings his fingers to his lips, shaking his head before I can speak.

Quietly, we listen to the sounds of footsteps.

Quietly, we listen to the sounds of stumbling.

Quietly, we listen to the sounds of panicked breathing.

The door opens.

Someone runs out.

“Get them!” Korren yells and we both sprint out of the restaurant.

The cold night of busy New York makes a shiver run down my spine.

People’s eyes, all glued to their phones, push past us. Most are on calls, chatting loudly. Steam pumps from somewhere. It’s loud, like usual, in New York.

I see someone disappear near the dumpsters.

“There!” I yell, sprinting towards it with Korren.

I don’t even think. I see the person jump inside the trash.

I jump in too.

I’m busy cursing at myself for being so stupid before Korren falls on top of me as well.

“Get off of me!” I yell, pushing him away.

He struggles, pushing his palm into my face. “It’s pretty hard right now, Dec—”

“You’re crushing my bones, man—” I yell.

He steps onto my ribs and I choke on my breath as he climbs out.

Cursing at Korren, I climb out too, gagging when I smell myself. “Why the hell did you jump after me—Oh my stomach—you destroyed my chest, you idiot—”

Korren isn’t even looking at me.

I can’t believe this.

“Korren. I’m smelly with garbage, I’m wet with dish soap, and I am so goddamn tired—”

I turn to see what he’s staring at and every word I know vaporizes to dust. “Oh. Oh no.”

In front of us, glowing with a soft purple hue, a girl stares at us. Her eyes are bright. Light blue. Gleaming without any light shining on them. Her skin—her skin is pale. Her cheeks, rosy pink.

Her hair.

Her hair is freaking floating.

Still attached to her scalp, her hair curls up, defiant to gravity. The color is Vista blue. For some odd reason, it reminds me of a flying river.

She isn’t human.

“Dude,” Korren breathes shakily, eyes wide. “That. . .” he points to the girl, who squints at us both, “is one sexy alien.”