Western Walkabout: Kidnapped By Aliens
“We need your aid in a most deep action,” my captor said.
She turned to her twin, “Is that how you say it?”
The twin nodded. “Close.”
So there you are, strolling along Queen Street, Freemantle, when suddenly you are in the grip of an alien.
Richard Harris tells a tall tale.
I was walking along Queen St, Fremantle, late one night when I was grabbed from behind by an incredibly strong person.
A fine hand, with long tapered fingers, closed my mouth but left my nose free to breathe.
A light cool voice whispered in my ear, “No struggle. We talk. Nod head if you agree.”
I froze, stiff with panic.
“No agree, I might have to kill you,” the voice threatened.
I nodded my head vigorously – I’m from a long line of negotiators and traders. Definitely not a hero. The hand unwrapped from my mouth; the arm around my middle swung me to face the unknown assailant.
Now I swear to you, just as truly as I’m sitting here drinking this glass of 2001 Killerby’s shiraz, I beheld a truly gorgeous creature, and behind her stood a twin, or sister. Both were dressed in neck to ankle black silk trouser suits, with a white band at the waist, indicating a slender body with a swimmer’s chest and arms.
“We need your aid in a most deep action,” my captor said.
She turned to her twin, “Is that how you say it?”
The twin nodded. “Close.”
The girl continued “You don’t know us but we know you. We are your nearest galactic neighbors. We urgently need to trade with you because our people are slowly dying from a lack of mineral elements readily mined here – iron and zinc in particular.”
“What would you have me do?” I said.
The twin answered “You must come and live with us for three moons. In that time you will help us improve our speech and you can show us your ways with food and nourishment.”
“You want me to leave this planet – my home?” I could feel a panic attack coming.
“Not at first,” the twin said. We have a small place in the forest south of Perth. You’ll be kept there for half a moon.”
“I think I’m going to be sick,” I said. I gagged and out flew my recent dinner – spaghetti bolognaise and sticky date pudding with ice cream.
“It’s all over my shoes,” the first alien said.
“Is it infectious?” her twin asked, her voice rising in panic.
I burped and gagged again. The aliens fled. “Catch a healthy beast next time,” the twin told her sister. “Get one with smaller ears and more hair. And give me a tissue to wipe my shoes. Mother Moon, I hate this stupid planet.”
