John rolled into a ditch formed by spring runoff and crawled away from the alien as fast as he could move silently.

Never did he expect the aliens to react so quickly to his shot. No sooner did he regain the cover of the trees than one of the little devils pop up on the lip of the gully and begin looking for the source of the noise.

They probably understood the concept of firearms. He guessed the aliens had nothing to match the utility of the weapon he carried. The small tube they wielded seemed to have a distinctly short range as the alien blasted sections of the woods with the device.

Moving swiftly down the chute formed by long-dried water, he neared a large light. A heavy stand of fronds grew astride the ditch, and he took advantage of the cover by crawling into the depths of the thick green growth.

The aliens would have a hard time seeing him in here. John breathed a sigh of relief; he had felt naked as he crawled away from the alien, a ready target for its strange gun.

The light from ahead gave different hues of green to the fronds while he lay in impenetrable darkness. It would be so easy to stay here until it was all over, to remain safe from the monsters that roamed the night. John could hardly believe what he had seen and done this night; it was something from in a badly filmed Hollywood movie.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

A bowl of popcorn and a beer. Those were the ingredients of reality. If there was any justice in the world, he would wake up in his favorite chair and have those trusted components sitting close at hand.

His mouth watered.

How long had it been since he had enjoyed the taste of a glass of water or beer? Too long, he could scarcely remember the taste of either fluid. He was hungry as well. Did they ever really eat Thanksgiving dinner tonight?

There was so much he could no longer trust. He wondered if he was the same as when he set out from the house and entered the woods. Hands shaking, John rubbed at the crust that had formed around his mouth. He doubted his memories before the run from the house.

While running through the woods and shooting aliens, he had not thought of the night’s events other than a feeling that nothing was as it seemed. Now the doubts came to life.

If he was a cop, why did he remember standing on a stage and speaking the lines of a Shakespearean play? Why could he not remember any of the busts he had made?

John knew he was intelligent and talented, yet he felt nothing less than an essential doubt about his existence.

He clenched his hands and tried to recoup his mind. There was no time to think; he had to reach to the aliens to drive a wedge of fear into their presence. He had to make them leave the house and his family alone.

Why did he have no memory of loving his wife?

Ramming his fists to the ground, John propelled himself forward until he could see out of the stand of foliage.