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Green Dawn Cake
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"Do you ever wonder... if there's someone out there? Someone that's not us?"
You flip through your newspaper, not paying much attention to Marshal Stevens. He's thinking out loud once again, and while that would have annoyed you not too long ago, you've learned to tolerate it. Derelict station postings often made Marshals go a little crazy, and everyone had to find a way to keep themselves sane. Stevens' thing was talking out aloud, and yours was having a few beers on the job.
"I mean, you know. Aliens that can think and speak, just like us. It's a big universe out there man- think about it! There must be millions, no, billions of stars out there, and at least some of em has to support life-"
You put the newspaper down for a moment to grab another can of Aspen Lager, but this time you see Stevens getting out of his chair. Obviously mesmerized by something, the heavyset marshal slowly walks over to the windows.
You try saying something to him, but no words come out of your mouth. The confusion turns to panic, and you try again- shouting at him that it's not real, to get away from the window- but you see it as clear as day, just as he does. A feminine figure, shapeless yet humanoid, places a delicate, wispy limb- almost resembling a hand, against the glass.
Stevens freezes in his shoes- then begins to reciprocate the gesture. You try yelling for help, but this time your lips are sealed shut. An urge to step closer to the window begins to take control, and you try to struggle against it. But like a puppet on strings, you don't control your body- and you find yourself before the wispy figure on the other side of the glass.
Stevens whispers. "She wants to talk... to you."
This time, you're in control of your body. You reach for the glass, pressing an open hand against its cold surface. The ghostly intruder seems to reach through the foot-thick window, locking warm, weightless fingers around yours; pleasant whispers, melodic and soothing, repeat alien syllables in your head again and again.
Every time you have this dream, you try to make sense of what she's saying. But you never could. Until now. She whispers and you listen carefully, afraid to miss a single word.
“Will- you find-”
The pain wells up in your chest- a deep and lasting heartache, a yearning for something. But for what?
“Love...?”
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