Not Troy

Troy is burning. My mother is there, of course. She is shouting something about aliens landing and I am trying to tell her that this is Troy, it is too far back in history for there to be aliens. Then a huge concrete Godzilla starts walking around smashing stuff up. And I decide that we can’t hear that sound because the first step of the monster has destroyed all our eardrums that we will never hear again. But then I see aliens. My mother was right. They are thin and tall and fall down onto the earth. I run into an alley convinced that the aliens will attack only if they think that I am brave, and wise, and intelligent. I have to appear pathetic and useless. I lie on the ground by a garbage bin. A Giacometti-skinny hedgehog of an alien with a camera for an eye stops and moves down the alley. It’s coming right at me. It prods my arm with a hook, draws blood. My mother’s prediction echoes in my ears, as a hook comes out this time right for my eye.