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submitted by unanimo to Showerthoughts

[PI]A fleet of extraterrestrial spaceships arrive on earth. They all have the Norton antivirus logo on their ships.

The spaceships arrived on a Tuesday. I was making eggs at the time, looking out the window, and thinking about the horrible decisions I had made in my life. Chief amongst them, I had decided to work at a Tech Support call center to put my wife Cynthia through school.
She had studied Art History. I had worked 18 hour shifts, listening to old lonely people tell stories about their grandkids instead of getting to the point and explaining their computer problems.
Now we were separated, and she was making six figures at a gallery in SoHo.
And apparently there was an alien invasion.
The spaceships were shaped like giant vaccuum cleaners, with suction nozzles on the front and disposable waste bags at the back end. They also featured the Norton Antivirus logo.
I received a call on my bluetooth. I dont know why they chose me.
"hello," the voice said. It sounded strange, as if coming from underwater, or on a half-tuned frequency.
"there is a virus on this planet. We have come to perform a scan."
Outside, an incredible roaring noise filled the air. The disposable waste bags at the rear-end of the spaceships began to inflate. Gale-force winds began to rip trees from the ground. My windows rattled. My crockery fell to the linoleum and smashed.
"Wait!" I said in my headset.
"What?" asked the strange voice.
I said the first thing that popped into my head.
"Postpone scan for 4 hours!" I said.
There was a pause. The roaring stopped. Some trees crashed down to ground, not quite fitting in their former places.
Finally, the voice responded. "Do you have administrator status of this planet?" it asked.
"Um," I said, "Yes?"
"Very well." The voice said, "Please join us at the mothership. We require you to enter the administrator password."
My eggs looked black, like a bitter man’s lungs. They crunched against my teeth. I decided to add some Sriracha. I opened my creaky cupboard door.
But no. Cynthia had the Sriracha sauce at our three-bedroom condo in Chinatown. MY Sriracha.
I took The List out of my pocket. It was six pages of college-ruled notebook paper, held together with the determined fury of a dozen staples. In the bottom corner of the final page, I scrawled ‘Sriracha sauce.’ I thought for a moment, and then wrote ‘Nutella jar.’ To be honest, I couldn’t remember who had purchased the Nutella. But as they say, you miss every shot you don’t take. And I wanted it all. Not just the condo. Not just the stuff inside it. I wanted five years of my life back.
I wanted the Saturday nights of my early twenties that I never had. I wanted phone numbers scrawled on bar napkins, road trips to the Florida Keys, pregnancy scares, and pounding hangovers. I wanted friends who had me on speed dial. I didn’t want the cholesterol and obesity of the sedentary life... Better take the liver damage and hearing loss of a hot young fiend with a drink in hand and a strange girl on his arm, trying to shout over the trance track.
“hello?” came the distorted voice into my headset. I’d completely forgotten about the aliens. I looked over at my smashed crockery. Damn. I didn’t own a broom. Cynthia was always the one who... Well, she wasn’t all bad. A vile, manipulative Siren who blocked out the outside world and drowned me financially to be sure. But she did sweep from time to time. And vacuum. Usually on Tuesdays.
Tuesdays. Damn.
Maybe it was time to start talking about getting back together. We could reconcile. There were things we still liked about each other. I reached for my phone.
“administrator?” the unearthly voice said. I guess the call was still going.
“Excuse me sir,” I said monotonously, “I have to place you on hold for just a short time, is that alright?” Click, I switched him on hold.
Strange unearthly noises filled my earpiece. I think the aliens were arguing. I paused to savor their domestic discord. It felt wonderful.
Most people don’t know that I can still hear them after I put them on hold. I hear them muttering under their breath. Eating. Burping. Talking to themselves.
I dialed Cynthia. It rang. Again. Three times.
The trees outside my window flew into the air again, drawn upwards into the Norton Anti-virus vacuumships.
Riiing. Five. Riiing. Seven.
The roof of my house shook. Windows rattled. Across the street, my neighbor’s house flew into the air. I think I heard his wife screaming. They had been married for 32 years. Judging by the speed of their home’s ascent, I doubted they would make it to 33. I smiled weakly.
Riing. Nine. Riiiing. Eleven.
Come on, Cynthia. Pick up.
The roof of my own house tore off, flying into the sky. I didn’t care. It was a rental.
Riiing. Thirteen. Riing.
Click She picked up.
Shards of my crockery began to levitate, then they shot off into the overhead vacuumship’s enormous outstretched nozzle. My toupee followed.
“trrh,” Cynthia said my name, sighing deeply. “Why are you calling me. We’re not supposed to... Just let the lawyers do it, alright?”
My plate of blackened eggs climbed into the air.
“Cynthia...” I said. I paused for a long time. The roaring of the vacuums continued, but I didn’t hear it.
“Look,” Cynthia interjected, “I’ve got an auction today with these London people--just email your list to my lawyer, okay?”
“Cynthia,” I said weakly. I felt the vacuum pulling me into the air. My feet felt weightless.
Cynthia’s tone changed. “Are you okay?” She sounded concerned. I felt something in my heart. Just a little something warm and soft.
The vacuum sucked me into the sky. I entered the gaping black nozzle amidst a swirl of people, pets, and household items.
“Cynthia?” I said. I couldn’t hear anything over the roaring noises, the screams, the collisions.
I shot through the vacuum tube. Red laser lights and green laser lights swept across everything, tracing the outlines and finding the midpoints of every object. The lasers measured my height, my waist, my inseam, the bumps on the back of my head.
“Cynthia!” I couldn’t even hear myself shout.
The tube split off into two directions. Outlined in laser light, I shot into the tube less traveled.
And then the roaring stopped. I fell into a glass chamber, looking down at the Earth.
“Oof!” I said as I landed, my hands pressed hard against the glass floor.
“Cynthia?” I said again.
I looked at my phone. Cynthia had hung up. I only had one call going. The aliens.
“Hey,” I said with disappointment. “So I’ve got that password.”
“that won’t be necessary,” the unearthly voice said.
Through the glass, I saw houses and people and pets and brooms floating back down towards the Earth. My neighbors’ house settled nicely back into its foundation. I saw them embracing. Then their roof snugly snapped back atop their home.
“we found the virus,” the alien said.
“Oh,” I said, “good. Well I’ve got to be getting back then.”
There was a silence.
And then my glass chamber became illuminated with red light. In large block letters, the word ‘QUARANTINE’ flashed across the glass.
Suddenly, a barrage of household items flew through the tube and landed in my chamber. There was a bottle of Sriracha. A jar of Nutella. My favorite towel. The Yankees hat that I had bought that Cynthia had worn to the games that her clients had taken her to. Everything on my list.
With all my stuff, the glass chamber felt crowded. Suffocating.
The spaceships began to rumble. And move. We flew higher into the air, towards the clouds. We were taking off. Going to outer space. My crushed, overworked body and my heavy, worthless knickknacks, flying off into the unknown.
I looked through my glass floor, and got one last look at SoHo. I waved.
Goodbye Cynthia. Goodbye.
submitted by trrh to WritingPrompts

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