Short stories: Meeting an extraterrestrial – Part 1
By admin On January 13th, 2010My Mother always told me that extraterrestrials have been living amongst the human race, on this planet, for centuries, so it was no surprise to me, when I actually met my first one, consciously.
I was really shocked with the idea that I probably had met a number of extraterrestrials during the course of my life. I mean, I probably went to school with some of them!
All the story books and comics that I had been reading through out my childhood, seemed to unfairly portray the profile of an extraterrestrial being, or Alien. Big heads, little heads, long thin contorted bodies and all of them, had this big, wrap around eye, thing going on! No wonder there are so many misconceptions. No wonder the human race media’, either completely disbelieves, or, they are simply fanatic about UFO sightings!
Well, this particular day of my life, changed everything for me! It put the whole extraterrestrial thing into perspective! I kind of hate to share this story with anybody; all that I can say is, “Believe what you will”!
I visited my Mother for the first time in a year. She lived in a different country; traveling frequently to see her, was pretty expensive. I had worried about my Mother’s health and mental state, for several months. The long conversations, over the phone with her, were sometimes nonsensical and other times, she seemed as lucid as the next person. I was an only child and very often, I felt guilty for living thousands of miles away.
The day before my flight, my Mother told me that there was someone that she would like me to meet. She didn’t say who that someone was, or anything else about them; She made sure of that with her rambling and her constant evasiveness. That was my Mother’s character anyway.
It was nice being back in my native country. It was early spring and all the bulb plants were happily in bloom. The sun was shining and the long drive from the airport went by very quickly.
I arrived at my Mother’s house, it was mid afternoon. The streets were bumbling with a few people; some I recognized, some I did not. I parked the car and walked apprehensively to the front door of my Mother’s little house. I noticed her garden was in urgent need of attention. My Father, who had passed a few years before, was an avid gardener. My Mother was disabled and her small pension was no match for a local gardener’s green thumb.
I took a deep breath and before I could knock on the door, the door opened. There stood my Mother with that big, ear
