This very short story was devised from a writing prompt selected by my local writers club. I’m also posting an impromptu video I made to see how long it takes to read the story. Four minutes. There’s sound distortion in the video and I didn’t intend it, nor do I know how to fix it. However – it seems to work well with the story!

“I’ve heard a rumor,” Shanté told Brett as they climbed the hill to the market.

“Not another stupid rumor.” He looked down at Titus Hole, wondering why there were so many rumor-mongers around these days.

“This is the weirdest one yet. I heard there are green aliens living up the creek.”

Brett let that thought sink in, then laughed. “Green aliens! I should worry? What will your crazy friends think of next? Bigfoot parties? So who did you hear that from?”

“A girl who lives up the creek. She said she met them in the woods and they live there.”

“Have her checked at Behavioral Health. There are no green aliens anywhere around here.”

“I don’t know, Brett. She seemed so serious and honest.”

“You’re gullible as hell.”

Shanté gave him one more sideways glance before veering away. “You never believe anything I say. Might as well find someone else to talk to.”

Brett stopped at Parrys to get an energy drink and said hi to Aaron who was restocking the soft drink shelves. Then he left, squinting at the summer sunshine, and headed up the creek to see if he could find anyone else to talk to. His friend, Jack, lived about three miles out and it was a great day for a walk – not too hot, with a slight breeze. He enjoyed the climb up the hill. Before long he was at the Eddy where he took his time scrambling down the bedrock. Two or three jumps off the tallest rock into the cool depth of Indian Creek, and he was ready to continue on to Jack’s place.

Jack was in his garage working on his BMX when Brett walked up. Jack glanced at him and said, “Green aliens.”

Brett plopped down beside him. “Why is everyone up this way talking about green aliens?”

“They’re out there and I’m going to find them.”

“Oh sure.”

“You can come too. Ride my old bike – it’s ready to go, soon as I get this tire repaired.”

“Right. I’ll go, but I do not believe in green aliens. This is just another stupid rumor.”

A girl walked into the garage. Brett had never seen her before. She had long black hair and wore RealTree camo shorts, shirt, and hat. She had a back pack – black. “Ready to go?” she asked.

“Just about. Five more minutes,” Jack said. To Brett he said, “This is Daisy. She’s from Oregon.”

“I’m visiting for the summer,” she told him, then left the garage to stand in the sunshine next to her pink mountain bike.

“We’re taking her?” Brett asked.

“She’s bringing food, so don’t knock it,” Jack said. “Besides, she’s the one who knows where they are.”

Half an hour later they were a mile into the woods on an old logging road, coasting downhill, covered with dust but having a great time.
“They’re down here,” she said. She got off her bike and hid it behind a clump of deer brush. Jack and Brett did the same and followed her down toward a tiny creek, and behind a hill, and past about three hundred pine trees – to a clearing full of marijuana plants.

“What the…” Brett said, his eyes big and round.

“This ain’t right,” Jack said.

Just then two guys that looked Mexican came out of a shelter uphill from the crop.

“They’re my friends,” Daisy said with a smile. “Green aliens. They use all organic fertilizers and growing methods. No chemicals.”

Jack and Brett took one more look at the green aliens, turned around, and ran back to their bikes as quickly as they could leaving Daisy to deal with the green aliens on her own.
…

In reality… if you find signs of marijuana growers in the forest… it is a good idea to stay away. See Marijuana – Danger in the Forest – something I wrote for Bigfoot researchers visiting our area.

Flash Fiction – by Linda Jo Martin – Something I wrote during one of our local writers club meetings…
…

Emil got out of his Lexis after parking on Second Avenue, across from the old mercantile building. He looked around slowly, sensing the old well on the far corner, now covered with concrete. He felt the light patterns of busy Happy Campers during the past 150 years, and the fragrance of ancient, more primitive early residents of the area. He reached back into the Lexis for his iPad, and switched it on, but no connection was available.

He smiled. “Remote places like this have such terrible reception,” he muttered.

Instead he sent a mental message to Sal. “Arrived on site.”

“Check!” Sal replied almost instantly, then a flash from above Slater Ridge showed him that Sal was on the job and in place.

He crossed the street and walked west to the Second Avenue Bridge. Rather than getting on the pedestrian walkway he slipped behind the fence.

“Too many blackberries,” he muttered. He glanced around to be sure nobody was there, then levitated and floated over the tops of the brambles. He plopped down into the chill of Indian Creek and started drilling into the creek bottom with his displacement pen.

“How did you do that?” The voice came from under the bridge.

Emil groaned. He looked up into the wide-eyed face of a teenage boy. The boy looked more curious than frightened. What to do? What to do?

Emil didn’t want to harm anyone. It was against the directive edict to do so. “Gather evidence, do not harm!”

“I should have been more careful,” he said. “Now you’ve seen me.”

“How did you float like that? And what are you doing?” The boy slid down the embankment toward Emil slowly, but unhesitatingly.

“It’s easy, really,” Emil told him. “If you believe you can, you can. Simple as that.”

“But I don’t believe I can.”

“Then you can’t.”

“But nobody around here floats, except on water. Not in the air.”

Emil watched his displacement pen’s progress in removing stones and gravel, tossing them aside from the depths of the creek bottom.

“It’s the middle of winter. Aren’t you cold? The water is freezing.”

“I’m not too cold because I believe I’m not. You on the other hand believe you’d be cold so if you got into this snow-melt you would become hypothermic, no doubt.”

“Where are you from?” the boy asked.

“Ah, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“You’re different.”

“How so?”

“You look different. Long face. Pointed ears.”

Emil smiled and pulled out a light pistol. He pointed it at the boy and stunned him into inactivity.

“We have a problem, Sal,” he mind-communicated.

“What now? I sense a human?”

“Got it. I need transport.”

“I’ll come in cloaked.”

Two minutes later the ship landed in stealth mode and collected the boy. “Take him home,” Emil told Sal with a wink and a cheery smile on his face.

“How about you?” Sal asked.

“I’ll be there in a few hours.”

Emil finished uncovering the vibrancy box which was encrusted with gold and diamonds. He elevated it from its position twenty feet under the creek bed, concealed it under his coat, and then filled the hole back in with the displacement pen.

He was back home on Mars within an hour and a half. He showed the boy around the colony explaining the terrain and some of the technology.

“Too bad I can’t let you remember any of this,” he said.

“Why not? I want to tell my mom.”

“It’s all classified, sorry, young man. But here’s something you might like and I can let you take some home with you.”

He pulled the gold and diamond encrusted vibrancy box out of his pocket and opened it. The boy peered inside where there was the essence of the souls of anyone who had ever lived in the Klamath River Valley town of Happy Camp.

Emil reached inside and picked out a small golden nugget. He held it up to the filtered sunlight so the boy could see it glisten and shine. “This is permeated with the vibration of your people at their best. Keep it with you and always you’ll be healthy.”

The boy accepted this gift and put the nugget in his pocket. Then Emil put his thumb on the boy’s forehead. They placed him in a transport craft and sent him back to Happy Camp, setting him carefully on the ground under the bridge.

* * *
Later when the boy woke up he could not stop thinking about his strange dream. He got up to go tell his mother, and as he did, reached into his pocket, touching the nugget. Immediately he was transformed, with ethical uprightness, vibrant health, and clear perception.

“Maybe Emil was real,” he said to his mother, “but I’ll never know for sure.”