The Landing

A far reaching experience

The Landing

We, the collective, speak in one voice.

We were called into action almost at dawn by someone in a frantic state of mind. The episode about to unfold here was initiated by dispatch sirens at about 1400 AU hours, however, since we are not conversant in Astronomical Units of time or familiar with the calculations therein, we are at a severe disadvantage as it pertains to such measurement devices or significance of their meanings.

Those devices were destroyed by the last disaster to strike our community some years ago or longer, so we had no clue. This is just another event in a long line of ill fated stories to fall upon us and our community. These happenings come on with more and more frequency.

They are like some unforeseeable natural disaster, apparitions from the void, forming like a night fog at sea, like a plague moving in with the subtlety of changing seasons under the shadow of ready to fall leaves spiraling down but with more frequency under untold danger, unfathomable in their reach. These peculiar events invade every corner of the soul, penetrate street corners at their disposal at the lower levels of concrete cold.

This must all sound or seem like a stretch but yet, somehow, we as a group, pull through these portals of life for the most part.... that is, very few of us do and when we do we are changed forever.

We are missing the anniversary of last years catastrophe remembrance ceremony which was to be held today to honor our lost friends but due to inclement weather and the now pending disaster, which follows on the heels of the great mud slid, coincidentally, precisely and exactly on the same day which swallowed up most of the homes in that disaster one year ago today. It has to be stated, with equally sad expletives and with our deepest condolences, the poor inhabitants therein did not survive. The particulars of this years new mystery circumstances is as follows;

We are running off again right now in our yellow submarine colored rescue machine; an over sized truck with giant rubber wheels for all occasions, on yet another unknown rescue mission known only to God in his divinity and wisdom.

Cause and effect have little meaning these days. We feel like a bunch of vegetables thrown into a random soup pot, tossed around by something coming down on us, swirling about with the stock not knowing when or if it will stop....another year...another problem.

There is something in the air today not exactly right....not exactly real...not exactly tangible. We hope it does not come over us or worse, fall on us like a brick or follow us like a dark shadow into the abyss in our rescue mission efforts.

It is bad enough dealing with the pending rain, which was already engorged in the gray stuffed clouds, ready to give birth to a deluge of wet at any moment, hanging, looming above us like a sentence of death, stationed there to pour down on our parade at any minute. What difference does it make? A job is a job. Duty is duty. The point was mute as we were already well on our way into the unknown with or without the weather factored in or its permission to proceed.

Our simplest actions to advance seem to be in question as we proceed; slowed down by natural events, altered or thwarted at every juncture by common ordinary things. Stones on the road feel like boulders as we roll on by in our over sized engine bouncing us wildly on. It could be faulty shocks or under inflated tires. Dense fog is holding us back as well, slowing us from our goal for the one thing that we need at this hour...speed. Time is of the essence in such matters. Productivity is everything. We are running counter to that end. Not knowing what is around the next bend is yet another mind boggling obstacle confronting us. The cumulative effects become insurmountable on the psyche when you are bouncing in the dark not knowing where you are. You don't even know if there is a bend or road or where to turn or which way to go.

We all remember times when we lived our lives like well oiled machines in harmony with nature or like precision-ed time pieces set in motion, ticking out our routine lives in a linear direction by the universes drum rolling over the distances, over mindless timelessness into itself. Those days are long gone. The concept therein long gone with it or should we say, the perception of reality is distorted in the absurd random black clouds above us, which now descend on us. Star dust, well beyond our reach, the mist of reasoning lost on the distances, goes out there with it as the incontrovertible facts of life dissolve, which now run counter to conventional wisdom which travels with or without us on the ghostly road. Do we have a real address for this wild goose chase, this problem at hand? Is this a real event? Thoughts come and go as we roll down the road in our over sized yellow truck machine with entirely too much on our minds to think and sirens following with us into the thick of things in slow motion.

We wonder if we can have an effect in the vast scheme of things to make a difference in and with our actions but here we are rambling on when we have our duty to perform.

Are there still ordinary people out there in the normal world? It is hard to say, to put into words, to define in common terms our quandary. We have already had several false alarms this week. Trust in humanity is at an all time low with our group. Time is traveling along side us but not exactly with us as we struggle to keep up with the ugly day and its demands, which by definition is an emergency worth mentioning.

Though we appear to be moving forward we question the validity of practically everything. Perhaps it is best not to question the mechanics of time and motion. It is all so very frustrating. One time is as good as another in our estimation, according to our way of reasoning with the calculus available to us from our perspective. We were dispatched in a hurry by our hard headed, hard of hearing fossil of a manager Mr. Horn, a man of great baldness and not very much else going on within the confines of that thick skull. We made wagers whether his head would glow in the dark since it was so bright and shinny.

He came over the intercom with hysterical verbose intonations of a man gone mad, like a bull frog in heat, in a more than usual frantic frenzied frame of mind. Even for him it was a stretch from the usual banter we hear from day to day emanating from the source of our confusion. He blasted out random commands, incoherence's, peppered with a steady stream of vulgarities that we took to be directed at the world. Inflamed information poured out, simply bounced off the walls and ceiling, spewed from his vocal cords in torn fragments of tortured language. Words not even known by him came forth undecipherable as he continued in his rant, barking out orders machine gun like. His face became contorted, distorted with convulsions as a rabid dog foaming at the mouth might do. The shouting was a normal thing for Mr. dispatch, Mr. Baldy as we called him. That is what he is all about but this was a little over the edge even for him.

On the best of occasions, on the best of days, he was a cantankerous, ornery, cynical old man who smelled of camphor. He smoked too much tobacco for his own good and was perpetually buried in a cloud of gray smoke, hiding in the fog of his own curiosities with his cranky disposition. We guess it was for his own protection against alien invasions or asteroid strikes.

He was sure that they would miss him if he smoked enough. Smoking too much is never enough according to his logic. There must be something to it because we have never experienced rocks falling from the sky or any objects for that matter hitting us from outer space or inner space for that matter. We have yet to experience aliens visiting us from beyond. To our knowledge we have had no encounters, not even ones of the 3^rd. Kind in our lifetime to our recollection to this date. The aliens in our community carry green cards and don't appear to be much of a threat. They themselves are not green so not to worry.

Our assignment was to rescue a little girl, who was described as having platinum blonde hair, done up in wild wiry long curls, wearing a yellow polka-dot dress. The story was something about a thermonuclear device or a piece of meat stuck between her teeth, between 4^th. Street and Main Ave. We don't believe she was or is actually stuck between the streets but we are convinced the matter could have something to do with meat between her teeth or the TND (thermonuclear device) or both seemed reasonably plausible. We had no time to reason these things through or think them over in the minutia of the moment so we were well on our way quickly to the aid of the damsel in distress. We would sort all this out at some later date.

When we arrived on scene the sky had cleared to where we could see real blue and bright light piercing

through and just above the horizon plane. The girl was playing with her teeth in the middle of the street. Her yellow poke-a-dot dress with solid black dots stood out clearly against the louder than red stop sign positioned there. (There for everyone's protection obviously.) The sign was redder than usual. It popped, compliments of the fierce sun light approaching its maximum morning glow, centered directly at the sign, a bright sun that penetrated the soul, shining on it and everything in nature, coming up as it does from the opposite direction, at just the right time and angle of inclination for the fullest impression and impact on the day.

The little tender aged creature was a pathetic thing to see. She had a frown on her face which made her look older and uglier than she needed to be. Wrinkles, which were already sprouting up, growing long and silently around her eyes, stretching her beyond her years, while she squinted at the sun and us as we made our rapid approach towards her.

She gave us a very disconcerting look. It was not a happy face. It was a face displaying deep displeasure at the edges of her dark blue, marble like doll eyes as she stood there mute with only a non existing smile to accompany her in her edgy mood. Innocent puppy dog eyes concealed what was brewing inside. Upon closer inspection, it was obvious such a look of disdain should not be present, should not permeate the structure of such a sweet innocent child still well within the confines of her youth.

We instructed her to move to the sidewalk immediately to get out of the road right now. The street is no place for little girls. It is no place for any girls of any age. It simply is not safe. We were hoping to find a young lady with better sense. You never know what you might find on the streets.

We asked her about the bomb. She said, “What bomb?” “There is no bomb.” She continued, “You're not the dentists are you?” It was more of a comment than a question. We answered, “Do we look like dentists?” She replied, “No....You look dumb.” “You look dense.” “You look like a bunch of idiots dressed up like fools for Halloween, riding around in your little boys truck, just as stupid and yellow as it, looking for trouble.” “By the way; do any of you guys have any floss or extra candy on hand?”

We shrugged our shoulders and drove back to the rescue house to have a chat with the old geezer.

He has some explaining to do. He should start his stories with,”Once upon a time.” It is time for him and his polyunsaturated polished head to retire. We were collectively in a fever to see him.

All of a sudden something strange happened. An air ship of some sort, a saucer shaped thing or rocket machine came down from out of what has now transformed into a sparkling clear blue sky. In fact, the sky was still hanging heavy with some ominous thick black clouds hovering in the northern distance, rapidly receding away from us far from our reach.

The solid thing landed right there in front of our engine and it was not a weather balloon so we did not bother to waste our time by calling the local military flight director to listen to the usual propaganda banter on the subject or for confirmation on what was obviously, clearly, in our midst. The ship had no markings but we surmised it was one of ours; an experimental flight gone bad, a mechanical malfunction or guidance system failure of some sort gone awry, that stood there before our eyes. It was simply there in downtown main-street for all to see.

All of that does not matter. It is an obstruction, an eye sore. It is blocking us from moving forward. What are we without law and order?

It just came on down from somewhere in the heavens to cause trouble and to stop traffic. Business came to a total stand still because the main entrance and exit in and out of town was blocked by this monstrosity, this intrusion, this illegal activity. The ship appeared with no cause, no rhyme or reason and from our perspective, with no papers, no visible support documentation. It parked without acquiring proper parking permits or obtaining required credentials or authorization for that matter from the township to carry out this heinous audacious crime in broad day light against us and all of humanity within this vacinity.

Where are the police at times like these?

They are probably off studying the holes in their donuts for clues to the meaning of life. They too are a menace to society and should be taken to task for not addressing this matter.

Whoever, whomever or whatever the occupants are inside that craft, that illegal container that landed; they are in deep trouble. They impeded our egress out of town. Clearly they will pay dearly for that blockage debacle. Duty comes first. Here they are flaunting our laws with utter disrespect for us and our businesses.

They are in violation of everything we hold sacred by their blatant disregard for our community and our way of life by landing in the first place without permission. We are a respectful peaceful people but our tolerance, like speed limits, has its limits. We demand justice served up right here and right now.

How dare they land that thing on our streets when we have more important matters to attend to. Our dispute with the old bald man can not wait another minute let alone another hour. It is front and center as priorities go. To tolerate this criminal act, this uncommon conduct and the accompanying outrageous, audacious manner or lack thereof, is an act of treason as far as we are concerned in need of an immediate response and remedy. Landing this object, this obnoxious monstrosity, metalic thing, this hideous form in broad daylight on our very humble asphalted streets , our sacred soil, is a sacrilege of the highest magnitude, of the highest order in our estimation.

What a slap in the face of justice. What is wrong with this picture?

Everyone knows instinctively that parking in the middle of the street is illegal. It is a public thruway not a thoroughfare for alien or local machinery pleasure. The roads must be kept open at all cost at all times.

The craft blocking our traffic was a hybrid, a cross between a conventional rocket and a flying saucer. That is how we easily discerned and deduced it was probably one of our air forces special inventions. The simplicity of design gave it away in an instance. Due to the thickness of the saucer section, the flying machine obstructed traffic in both directions. When local law enforcement finally got around to addressing the matter they had a lot to say about the situation but were unable to do anything about it. They simply did not have the equipment or resources to remove the thing.

We had not even traveled one block when this space ship blockage terminated our progress and travel plans. The girl in the polka-dot dress had caught up with us. She tried to walk past us but she too was blocked and stopped from advancing due to the craft, which happened to be literally stuck, wedged between the buildings on either side of the street. It was amazing that no one was killed but there was considerable property damage as it crashed and impacted the buildings on both sides of the street upon landing. She stood there perplexed, only wanting to go home to get her daily beating for being out as usual without permission from her parents. If they only knew their daughter had been playing in the street, perhaps the beating would have been more intense or meaningful. Maybe she is better off being stuck in this position. At least now she will have a better excuse if this nightmare ever ends.

Minutes turned into hours. We grew angrier by the seconds as it was becoming perfectly clear, dawning on us, that justice would not prevail without an adequate plan of enforcement. We knew we were helpless and so we remained in our yellow truck stuck along with little miss polka dot dress outside waiting helplessly in this silly condition.

The little girl started pacing around in the street. There was no chance of her being run over since all activity including traffic had come to an abrupt stop so we let her be. She continued playing with her teeth, wishing for candy, praying for a dentist, frozen in time with the rest of us. The old bald dispatcher was lucky this time. We would have to wait more time to rattle his cage.

Just then, without warning, a hatch or door flew open. We should say, blew open, because there was an enormous thud, an explosion, followed by an ear shattering, damaging, thunderous boom, with a following shock wave that shook us to our core, forced us back from were we stood or sat, in a sudden electrifying unpleasant jolt. We marveled at the sight of a large rectangular metallic object tumbled out of control above us, not knowing were it might land. Some one or something stepped out of the craft dressed in a glowing unearthly metallic blue uniform or suit of some sort. A solid globe like helmet covered, encompassed the face and head of the entity. There was no way of discerning if it was humanoid or mechanical in nature.

Two other mobile creatures sauntered out, followed the first being awkwardly in a side winding, crab crawling manner. Walking did not seem natural to them, who or whatever they were. They too were costumed in the same material, with the same fish bowl like encasement on their heads....if they were heads under there. They seemed to be moving about in odd circular patterns but only in close proximity to the craft, just outside the ship, meandering in a state of pure confusion. Everything about them was quite peculiar, not at all in the manner and style of beings of this planet. We were convinced they were not from Earth and not from the space center as previously speculated.

The young girl walked right up to them and asked for candy without a care in the world. The 3 entities slowly approached her, stood directly in front of her. They stood there for several uncomfortable minutes, then they backed away with backwards steps, one step at a time, without a word or utterance of any kind. We suspected they did not or could not speak or understand our language. English is not a universal language. They slowly, methodically marched oddly backwards, staggering back into their craft. They employed a levitating device. It had a tripod shaped structure at the base, with three distinct cylindrical narrow funnels joined at the upper front end of the device for functionality and with focus elements designed for the purpose to retrieve the door hatch which had been blown off earlier. It had to be secured back to its original position before liftoff. Moments later that is exactly what they did. Who could ask for anything more?

Our work here is done but we are far from finished. Is there no intergalactic law or laws to protect us from such intrusions, violators, criminals from space? Whoever or whatever they are they should be made accountable. If these creatures turn out to be mechanical in nature could any laws be enforced? Can you take a machine to task for wrong doing?

For the time being we can now get back to our regular lives and jobs again.

As for the girl; she could not be happier because now she has become famous for saving us and our community. Aside from the beatings she was quite pleased but her life would never be the same. Parents will be parents. Justice must be served at the expense of a small behind made red and raw as a reminder for her to change her behavior. We, the collective, believe in beatings. It builds character from the ground up. In particular, in this instance, with a well placed belt on the bottom of a brat, which should accomplish just that.

Order must be maintained, restored, even in the worst of circumstances. Our community loves the little hero who saved us from the unknown forces who came from the great beyond. She saved us with her direct approach, her calm, her need for sweets and dentistry. It could have been the bold polka-dots that frightened them away. They might have interpreted them as some kind of disease or nemesis of some kind....not to mention the curly blonde hair and marble-y, out of this world stark eyes and a smile to scare Frankenstein that intimidated them into utter submission to depart immediately from this world.

What ever the cause, whatever the reason, they are gone and our lives are restored in proper style.

Our ordinary ways of life can go on because of her.

The community authorities designated her as supreme leader, a princess in the making, a friend to all living creatures. They voted her in to the high command with unlimited power to rule over us and all that we stand for. At that moment she forgave her parents. They did not have to die. She was a kind ruler but first mom and pop had to be punished for their sins and transgressions against the chosen one. Little girls don't like it when they are made to cry. Mom and dad had to do public service for five months. Their daughter ordered them to clean the streets. They followed her decree to the letter. They even picked up stones and pebbles. (Some community members had complained that too many stones had been obstructing their vehicular travel. There was a rumor that it was one of the rescue truck members who lodged the original complaint but it was purely speculation.)

Actions have consequences. The community leaders did not like the girls name. She was called Dot. No one likes the name Dot so they renamed her Victoria because it had the flavor of refinement, nobility and royalty. It was a victorious day, a glorious day to remember. It had Victoria in it. What could be better?

We, the collective, have spoken. We speak in one voice.