Pretty Monsters [S.S. Col.] by Link Kelly

Author:Link, Kelly [Link, Kelly]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Short Stories, Horror, Fantasy
Publisher: Canongate
Published: 2008-01-01T02:00:00+00:00

Everybody knew what the aliens looked like.

THE SURFER

IN THE DREAM I was being kidnapped by aliens. I was dreaming, and then I woke up.

Where was I? Someplace I wasn’t supposed to be, so I decided to stand up and take a look around, but there was no room and I couldn’t stand up after all. My legs. And I was strapped in. I was holding on to something. A soccer ball. It slid out of my hands and into the narrow space in front of me, and it took two tries to hook it up again with my feet. The floor kept moving up and down, and my hands were floppy.

“One more pill, Dorn. Oops. Here. Have another one. Want some water?”

I had a sip of water. Swallowed. I was in a little seat. A plane? I was on a plane. And we were way up. The clouds were down. There was a woman who looked like my mother, except she wasn’t. “Let me take that,” she said. “I’ll put it up above for you.”

I didn’t want to give it to her. Even if she did look like my mother.

“Come on, Dorn.” My father again. Wasn’t he supposed to be at the hospital today? I’d been at soccer practice. I was in my soccer clothes. Cleats and everything. “Dorn?” I ignored him. He said to the woman, “Sorry. He took some medication earlier. He’s a bad flier.”

“I’m not,” I said. “A bad flier.” I was having a hard time with my mouth. I tried to remember some things. My father had come by in his car. And I’d gone to see what he wanted. He was going to drive me home even though practice wasn’t. Wasn’t over. I drank something he gave me. Gatorade. That had been a mistake.

I said, “I’m not on a plane. This isn’t a plane and you’re not my mother.” I didn’t sound like me.

“Poor kid,” the woman said. The floor bounced. If this was a plane, then she was a something. A flight attendant. “Wouldn’t he be more comfortable if I stowed that up above for him?”

“I think he’ll be fine.” My father again. I kept my arms around my. My soccer ball. Keeping my shoulders forward. Hunched so nobody could take it. From me. Nobody ever got a soccer ball away from me.

“You gave me Gatorade,” I said. The Gatorade had had something. In it. Everything I ought to know was broken up. Fast and liquid and too close up and then slow like an instant. Replay. My lips felt mushy and warm, and the flight attendant just looked at me like I was drooling. I think I was.

“Dorn,” my father said. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Saturday,” I said. Our first big match and I was missing practice. My head went forward and hit the soccer ball. I felt the flight attendant’s fingers on my forehead.

“Poor kid,” she said.

I lifted up my head. Tried as hard as I could. To make her understand me. “Where.

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