Home, Science Fiction

They Came From Above

Smoke. Suffocating, burning my nostrils.

Sharp rock. Hard edges pressing uncomfortably into tingling skin.

Something rising in my throat. Copper on my tongue.

An annoying ringing in my ears barely covering the pounding in my chest, the violent pulse in my veins.

I gasp, arching against unyielding stone, and cough and cough and cough. Lungs squeezing, forcing what little air remained out. I taste ash and earth as hot air rushes in. Something sloshes in my chest.

My hands tingle with icy needles, finger-tips numb.

I can’t feel my legs.

I shouldn’t be so calm right now. But anxiety takes energy, and I’m too tired.

My eyelids feel heavy, as if covered with steel. I groan, and cough, shaking, lifting off the ground an inch only to slam back down against the hard stone. Something splatters across my lips.

What happened? What was I doing?

Something surges in my cotton-filled head, loud without words. I’d been doing something important.

Struggling and tossing, I manage to open my eyes a crack — and am greeted by the sight of ships; massive and twisted in strange shapes hovering above in Earth’s atmosphere.

Oh. Right.

We were being invaded. And unlike the stories we wove with our endless hope and boundless imagination of the stars beyond — they were not friendly. They were worse than our nightmares.

I’m sad to say that the crazy tinfoil-wearing people had been right.

Vision swirling and edges darkening, I watch as Hell rains down on us unprepared and terrified mortals. Muffled sounds of gunfire and the sound of actual fucking lasers, fills my ears, driving away the worst of the static and nearly drowning out the screams and crashes filling the frigid night air.

What was I doing out here again?

As if having been waiting for those exact words, the memories of the past few weeks rush in, sucker-punching my weary and oxygen deprived brain without warning.

The sudden brutal attack. The destroyed cities.

Calling out in the dark for survivors.

Strange blue-green blood staining my Dad’s hunting knife.

Burying my family. 

The anger and tears — boiling my blood and cooling my pale skin.

Signing up to attack. Signing up for a suicide mission.

Being discovered before we could escape.

Watching my comrades being torn apart.

Getting shot–

Pain, white hot and everywhere comes. Someone screams, and it takes me a moment to realise its me.

My hands curl, back arching, twisting to get away from the agony. But I can’t. There’s no escape, and that just sucks. As it dies down, dropping my violently back into my previous numbness — because of course it would come in waves — I realise there’s something in my hand.

Small and metal, my clumsy numbed fingers catch the edge of one singular button.

I’m still holding the detonator.

I smile, and god does that hurt, and staring right at the massive mother-ship above, I press the button.

The resulting explosion is glorious — strange colors bursting and mingling violently, filling our sky with light rivaling the midday sun, as massive metal remains fall.

I laugh. I laugh till I have no breath, loud and without abandon as darkness creeps across my blurring vision.

We won. I won.

Nothing hurts anymore. It is so cold, and suddenly, it doesn’t matter that I can’t get more than a wheezing shallow breath. That I can’t feel my hands anymore — that I can’t feel anything but the chill of the night and the air gently sinking down my throat.

Huh, I think as my eyes slip shut. So it is like falling a s l e e p….

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