“Oh shit, that’s no good,” you exclaim as you witness the Amazon burn into nothingness.
I think it makes quite a lot of sense to be stressed out.
Instead of complaining, it might be better to focus on one particular dude who was involved with attempting to ameliorate the deteriorating circumstances.
His name happens to be Jose.
Before he set off to fly his water-expelling aircraft, Jose witnessed a T.V. broadcast that showed the flames over the Amazon to be raging so high that their encompassing projections extended to lick the underbellies of the clouds.
Now that he is finally in flight, mental images of his unintended preparatory work cloud Jose’s thinking.
Jose’s thoughts also turn to his father, who has always disproved of his love for flying.
“You are a child playing around with a bird machine that darts about like a headless chicken. Be a man, that is no way to live at all.”
Jose tells himself that he doesn’t care.
The cockpit is the only place he can truly relax and let his mind rest. When he flies, there is simply too much stimulus to process. One cannot help but to concentrate solely on the moment at hand.
It is then, when Jose is most focused on his adoration for air-based travel, that becomes astutely aware of the immense warmth radiating upwards from beneath his feet. It is a wave of serendipitous energy that takes him off guard. He cannot help but smile.
If not for the fact that he is under pressure to fly this plane, the ambience would be eerily reminiscent of the times spent sitting around the fireplace at Christmas.
He feels immediately guilty of even having entertained such an idea.
The guilt engrosses until it becomes a solid, producing salty raindrops that are soon to be wicked up to accompany the melty moisture of the cockpit.
Jose is distracted by another sort of emotional turmoil. Flashbacks of his arguments with Sally (his part-time lover and full time faultfinder) swim like unattractive blobs of emotional catastrophe that mitigate any inklings of earth-destroying disasters, fireplaces or Christmas.
Jose barely notices as a space-ship zooms over above him.
It ricochets perceptibly Earthwards, undertaking the transformation into a boundless bullet sent to destroy Jose and the rest of his kind.
It undertakes a magnificent arch, swinging effortlessly in a semicircular orbit towards Jose’s plane. It looks like one of those attractively tinted sour candies or a beaming neon disc radiating uncomfortably bright luminance.
The apparition approaches waveringly and draws so close that Jose has trouble making out its details.
Our pilot protagonist is alarmed, but is still set on reaching his final destination in safety. He turns his head back towards the windowed opening of the cockpit and searches for the autopilot control.
While in the process of searching for the autopilot setting, he spots, in the corner of his eye, that the spacecraft has not left him alone.
It is in that same visual field, sort of layered onto the side of the floating vehicle, that there is also another, tinier and differently coloured figure.
Jose finally locates the autopilot function and takes no time to stab forcefully at the button, slamming the remainder of the protruding switch back towards its origins.
As his head turn rightwards to make sense of the situation, he locks eyes with another life-form.
“One of those damn aliens must’ve thought it to be hilarious to climb out of its space ship and freak me out,” is the only thought Jose can muster.
He is correct.
Or at least partially so.
Because there is, at this moment in time, an alien knocking impatiently on the window of Jose’s cockpit.
“Ratatatata,” says the window.
The astrophysical inhabitant cannot wait to be let in.
“Ah what the Hell, might as well talk to it if it’s so desperate to meet me,” thinks Jose.
He clasps the Emergency Exit handle erected on the inner surface of his craft. In a singularly swift motion, he pulls it down and up once more to unveil the mechanical coating overlying the rest of the craft.
At the outset, Jose had been far too stunned to notice the details of the visual appearance of the alien. Now, having had no choice but to allow it in, Jose is forced to reckon with what his kind has for so long attempted to pin down.
The closest and most accurate comparison that could be drawn would be to the Flatwood Monsters described by Jerome in 1999. The alien and the monster are almost identical actually, except for the fact that the head of the life form currently taking up space in Jose’s copter is more rounded as opposed to pointed. Jose is later to find this perceived roundness to actually be a product of the alien being self-conscious of the sphericity of his head and attempting actively to hide this with the help of a woollen beanie that happens to be fraying at the edges. Jose notes the material that the cap is made from seems oddly similar to the varieties of thread and cloth that he has witnessed in the past. The most distinctive difference he can make out is that this headpiece is more translucent and in some horrifying way increasingly repulsive to the touch than anything he has thus far observed to exist on Earth.
While Jose is busy thinking all these things, the alien is busy hovering in its spot, maybe performing some kind of process similar to respiration.
The strands of Jose’s nerves have by this point been constructed to constitute an unsteady Jenga puzzle that is in each moment in danger of being blown over.
In addition to this anxious sensation, there is also another. Perhaps it is less perceptible, but undoubtedly no less real than the first.
The second feeling is one he can only describe by means of a specific reference to how Richard in ‘A Secret History’ describes the sensation of having been shot for the first time.He doesn’t remember the exact quote from the book, but it goes something along these lines:
“It is unexpected, but when it happens, you know that it couldn’t have been any other way”
As the Alien (‘alien’ has now capitalised as the life-form has given no other name for himself and Jose has decided to use this as the proper noun with which to address his new friend this for the time being) fails to make itself comfortable in the tiny space, Jose prepares himself for the only feat that is at this point plausible. He makes it his mission to find out more about the developments in other Solar systems.
He again draws his eyes to the control panel to make sure the autopilot is on. It is, and he allows his inquisitive thought process to continue.
The main lines of inquiry to be aimed at the alien, in no particular order whatsoever, are to be as follows:
- Is there intelligent life out there that parallels or surpasses the intelligence of human kind?
- If so, are you one of them?
- If intelligent life exists, why has Earth not yet been formally visited?
Jose sets out to communicate these utterances in a streamlined way. He wants more than anything to arrange them into a neat little row, into the same way into which cards are meant to be set out on a table before they were played.
As soon the Alien begins its response, Jose must come to terms with the fact that his visitor speaks exclusively in wingdings.
The Alien is also quick to understand that Jose is quite confused. To correct this issue, he lifts his forefinger and jabs it down once more, activating the translation system that has sneakily been transfixed into the inner lining of his beanie.
Jose is lucky that the Alien is a formidable representative of his kind, who has in fact conducted much personal investigation into the threads of reasoning that answer some of the questions Jose has posed.
His answers to the questions are as follows:
1.”Yes, there are many societies much more intelligent than your own.
The first of our kind came from types of cells that cannot be formed on your Earth: we arose from cells that did not come from pre-existing cells, but instead evolved from the cooled versions of the lava arising from the volcanoes that surround our living areas.
I’m not going to lie, we’re much much more evolved than your own kind. However, I do think it would be wisest not to feel discouraged, as your kind already possesses many of the qualities that would among us place you along to top-most tier in terms of societal developmental standards.
Perhaps the most obscure of these measures that would be considered an important marker of your diversity as a species and that you may not be in the know about yet is the breadth of various forms of animal-related onomatopoeia to reflect the vast number of languages on Earth.
I can also give you more specific information about how life is in a different Solar System, but you must understand that there are millions of different societies and ways of life out there, so I’ll just use my personal experience as a representative example.
I’m from an Exovenus. Together with our neighbouring planets, we form a network. Each planet comprises of distinct cultures and customs but we have decided to band together for the sake of our interests in both trading and safety. Even the seats in our parliaments are divided evenly among representatives of each of these contributing societies and you could say that we are all part of a little co-dependent space community.
I can assure you that there are millions, if not trillions, of similar arrangements all across the Universes.”
2. “Contrary to the impression given off by my stupid beanie, this should be obvious from my answer to the first. You may be surprised to find that most of us have beanies or some different kinds of special accessories into which we implement our translation apparatuses: these tend to be quite individual and they are used as a vehicle for life forms such as myself to ‘express themselves’ or whatever.”
3. “The response to this one is focused on support for the idea that on Earth is known as the Zoo Hypothesis.
In crude terms what this means is that others in this Solar System as well as in those beyond have decided to award Earth a sort of entertainment purpose. There’s a special channel dedicated to watching humans all around the world. It’s popular and merchandise has also been crafted by the T.V. channel responsible for the development of the enterprise in order to increase profits.
There would be no reason for us to come visit you as we are already able to cause enough issues on your planet by merely incurring indirect damage.
We have special apparatuses that deplete the ozone and exacerbate climate change because your kind are soon to undergo an evolution that will make you susceptible to really begin to threaten our position of superiority.
We have decided to take action early this time as we recently wasted a lot of time and resources in defeating a planet full of AI babies. The name of it doesn’t need to be mentioned as I am not proud that our success was largely down to unorthodox battle strategies. Nevertheless, we don’t want to take you down before we need to go into direct combat as the new generation with Greta Thunberg and all seems pretty intent on impending our efforts.
I like you bro, and I’m sorry that you gotta be the one to deal with this on the ground,” concludes the alien.
“Nah man I understand. I won’t pretend that I wouldn’t do the same if I were you guys,” replies Jose.
Just as this exchange begins to come to its natural end, Jose notes that he has failed to be attentive to the movements of the aircraft.
An emergency light starts beeping wildly. The hues of the flashes are similar to the hue of the strawberries Jose used to pick out with his grubby fingers from his mother’s fruit bowls as a child.
“Shit we’ve hit turbulence,” exclaims Jose, jumping to the controls.
“Its alright man, I can transport us both safely home,” asserts the Alien.
“What about helping the Amazon?” asks Jose.
“I mean, from what I told you before, you should know by now that that’s not really something you can stop from happening anyways,” answers the Alien.
“True bro, just take me home then,” says Jose.
“This damn shampoo damn bottle says that it’s supposed to be made out of oats and coconut oil, but whenever I use it I swear it smells like fucking tortilla chips!” yells Sally from the shower.
The mirror in the toilet shudders from the outburst of screeching.
“Ok honey,” replies Jose in a voice that is more wheedling than breathy.
It is about two weeks since Jose came into contact with his extra-terrestrial buddy. He is now sitting in his flat in Rio, trying to read a book that was recommended to him by his father. It is nearly Easter time, and he is soon to set off for his home town. He wishes more than anything for this upcoming holiday to be relaxing and conflict free. He hopes that by reading this book, he will have a pleasant talking point that will steer the conversation away from his perceived failures.
Following Jose’s acquaintance with the otherworldly creature, he felt quite compelled to alert his government, and perhaps more importantly the international community, of his experience. He probably would have as well, if not for the fact that the Alien transported him out of from the cockpit and into the comfort of his own bed, into the immediacy of sleeping Sally, who continued to snore as if there was no extra-terrestrial life at all.
Jose was left all alone, with no proof whatsoever that the interaction had actually taken place. How could he then go try to explain something like this to a representative official? How could he even explain what had happened to his co-workers, or to his friends, or to Sally? Realistically, he had no chance.
There was also another factor that discouraged him from taking action.
If the world was going to end anyways, wouldn’t it be wiser to just make the most of it for the time he had left?
It would be his choice to spend the rest of his days before the eminent demise of his species wrapped up in the only, albeit imperfect, woman he has ever been romantically involved with.
Besides, it is certainly not the case that Jose’s life is in all other ways unsatisfactory.
Not at all.
He and Sally own a huge, open, white flat in the Leblon district in Rio. They can only afford it due to the insane discount given to them by their landlord because of his acquaintance with the Sally’s older brother, who happens to be a reigning official in operations of the Comando Vermelho.
Jose cannot concentrate on his book. It is one of those short histories of Philosophy, and he is stuck on the chapter about Nietzsche, particularly on the part about perspectivism. A warm wind always blows through the blinds, stirring the drying laundry that is sat on the string. The clothes wave at him like woven streamers. The air is sweet, and contrary to what Sally may claim, there is no trace of a tortilla chip scent.
Perhaps it is time for Jose to acknowledge that he simply has no interest in Philosophy. There is realistically no chance that he will be able to construct any sort of impressive line of reasoning to support his reading in a dinner-table context.
“No point in carrying on then,” he thinks, placing the book down on the glass covering of the recently wiped coffee table.
After the day described above, Jose forgets about his Alien friend till the following Christmas, when the face warming effects fire place became known to him once more. He opens Sally’s horribly misplaced gift consisting of a pair of snazzy reflecting sunglasses and a GQ magazine and reflects on what could have been, if he had just been brave enough.
WAST WRTNG 