Size isn't everything

by Ronny Schelling
(Seattle, Washington)

The surface bubbled as though it boiled in the hot sun. I couldn't see beneath the algae and lily pads but I knew something was down there.

I came to the pond early that morning because a bright light had illuminated my bedroom until pulling the covers over my head could do no more.

I slipped out quietly, managing not to wake Brutus snoring loudly at the front door, and shuffled down to the water's edge. The light had gone, but the water was swirling around and doing things it shouldn't. The sun finally reached the surface and I could see a fin, a wing, a paddle, something, beneath.

What came over me then I cannot describe. I reached into the water, grabbed the fin and tugged. It held fast, the water boiled some more, then furiously, the water belched from behind the fin, and splashed me in the face. I held on tight.

A shape appeared before the fin, something like a cigar tube, and a new light appeared to emanate from it. Just then a fish, no a man, no, not a man, swam to the light, went into the tube and the light went away.

The water splashed me in the face once more and suddenly, as if on command, the tube pulled out of my grasp. More churning, boiling, lights and POW, it broke the surface and flew away.

I thought it was all a dream but the burn mark on my hand told me otherwise. How big and bold they are who may someday choose to invade us.