One day I was just relaxing at home with my rifle in hand, thinking private thoughts while staring at the sun. Then I fell asleep, and the aliens from outer space paid me a visit:
Their invader ship hovered before my face with its bedroom window open — the drapes were billowing, and lights were flashing bright red. Then the aliens climbed out: they looked like stylishly attired humans with slightly buggier eyes.
The leader of the group extended her hand, and instinctively I reached forward and held it in mine; then these beings led me away and dropped me off in the outer darkness.
It felt like I was only floating there for a day or two, but when they returned me to Earth, I had lost a whole month of my life. (Time flies when you’re in the heavens, where everything is fine.) The reason I was so satisfied with my stay among the aliens is that they educated me. Being born in the USA, I had never been exposed to wisdom of any kind before.
The only thing that’s unfortunate about my enlightenment is that, now that I’ve returned to Earth’s Wild Western Hemisphere, I have a hard time conversing with my fellow countrymen. There’s no hostility or arguments between us — we’re all too kind and mature for that — but I must hold back and refrain from conveying what I know are the keys to a more harmonious life, since my brothers and sisters here would need to possess a more advanced foundation of knowledge to understand my ideas. So now my social life is just a bit sad.
I wonder why the aliens don’t abduct and illumine more minds. — Perhaps, like vampires, they only come where they are invited.
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