Page 5 of The Alien I Fell in Love with on Walpurgis Night

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“What?” I look him up and down. “Did you choose to be an alien? Or did they tell you, ‘This is the game and if you want to play this is your character?’”

“I didn’t choose to be an alien. I am an alien. This isn’t a game.”

“Okay,” I say thinking, He’s really in character. “No offense, but I’m glad I’m myself. Well, mostly myself. I normally don’t wear a cloak or my hair like this.”

“Your hair is one of the reasons I chose you. It’s beautiful.”

“Because it’s blonde?”

“Because it’s braided in the traditional style as an invitation to suitors.”

“Excuse me? An invitation to suitors? Are you a time traveler as well?” I put a hand up to my hair. When he doesn’t say anything more I continue, “Thank you, I guess it’s part of my costume too.” I wonder if the woman who sold me the green cloak had something to do with my being chosen to participate in this game. I don’t see any cameras, but cameras can be hidden anywhere. Suddenly a thought occurs to me, “Are you taking your role so seriously because this is more than just a fun game? Are sadistic billionaires funding this? Are we going to die if we don’t play along?” I’ve heard urban legends about such games.

“Again, I have no idea what you are talking about. I cannot stress this enough; this is not a game. If you want that money.” He points to the suitcase, “you must help me get off planet Earth by pretending to be my wife. Now we must come up with a story. I could have met you…” he trails off.

“How? What kind of work do people do in the galaxy?” I ask, looking for a creative answer.

“More importantly, what do humans do in the galaxy?”

“The same as aliens, I suppose.”

He shakes his head.

“This is all pretend, what difference does it make? I want to be an intergalactic diplomat or someone important.”

“Our story has to sound reasonable,” he says and points to the money. “Humans would never hold such high positions in the galaxy.”

I’m annoyed that even in this fantasy we are creating he wants to put me down. I assume this is some misogynist sci-fi bro thing, but I want the money so I’ll play along. “Fine, what do you think is a believable story then?”

“How about I rescued you from being sold as a sex slave to a species of aliens known as ‘Octopods’ at a space station called ‘Gala.’”

“Seriously? That’s pretty detailed for a fictional story you just came up with. And a bit kinky as well.”

“It sounds good to me.”

“Fine, then what?” I’m going to let him live out this fantasy. Why not? I think he’s good looking underneath all of that grey paint. And who knows what might happen after we complete this game? That is, if he’s not completely chauvinistic. But for now, I’ll let him get away with one red-flag in this fictional sci-fi story.

“Then you lived with me and we married in secret.” His green eyes search mine. “What?”

“What do you mean ‘what?’ The last part is vague and disappointing. Obviously, our marriage didn’t mean much to you.”

He smiles and I’m immediately charmed against my better judgment. “Sorry. I assure you; our marriage means everything to me. Now for some more mundane details, how old are you?”

“Twenty six. And you?”

He hesitates for a second as if he’s doing math. “Thirty five, give or take a few in Earth years.”

“Oh, I meant Earth years too, of course,” I say, trying to take all this seriously. “Are you Swiss?”

“No. I’m not from this planet. I’ve told you that. Why would you ask if I’m Swiss?”

“The money. But you don’t have an accent, most French or German speakers have an accent, even if it’s slight. Are you American?”

“I told you I’m not from Earth. I gave you a translator so that you can understand me. That’s why you hear me without an accent. Everything you hear is translated into your native language. You will only hear foreign words or accents if there is not an approximate translation, which is exceedingly rare.”

“If you want to go full-on into your role to win this game that’s fine by me. You were very convincing with the so-called ‘translator.’” I can’t help but run a hand through my hair where he supposedly put it. I realize it’s all in my mind because I can’t feel anything. “Are you a professional actor?”

---