In the vast vacuum of space, there was a big ball of light. Dozens of other balls, some of them crudely shaped, seemed to run around and around the big ball of light, not unlike a failed attempt at playing catch with your dog—it was too distracted chasing its own tail.
Among the dozens of balls, there was a particularly interesting one. It was interesting because it used to be flat and thought to be the center of the universe. It was so interesting that other alien lifeforms never came. The ones that did, left quickly in the dead of the night.
The ball was the colour of a deep ocean, with dwindling spots of green and plenty of swirling whites. Like the big ball of light, it gave off its own light. But unlike the big ball of light, it wasn’t very bright, and neither were most of its inhabitants.
These inhabitants were called humans.
Humans were furless bipeds that roamed the particularly interesting ball. Most lived on the dwindling spots of green under the swirling whites. An occasional oddball or two chose to live away from the spots of green—these humans were known as astronauts, oligarchs, and a captain whose name rhymed with Jill and pharaoh.
Humans were highly social creatures. Their highly social nature could be demonstrated through several examples of their daily lives. For example, it was customary to listen to old men giving boring monologues at special occasions such as graduations or sermons just so you could boast to your preschool mates about drinking really old and barely intoxicating grape juice made by really old men with barely any hair left on their heads.
Humans also had a constant need to communicate with non-human creatures, such as mooing at cows or meowing nonsensically at cats. These cross-species communications did not usually produce desirable results, but humans were not known to give up easily.
One such human went by the name of Qale. Qale was a human boy who had gone through the customary listening of old men giving boring monologues at his preschool graduation. He only tolerated sermons for the soggy communion wafers. It was heavenly.
Qale also had a constant need to communicate with non-human creatures such as mooing at cows or meowing nonsensically at cats. These cross-species communications don’t usually produce desirable results, but Qale was not known to give up easily.
He didn’t understand why he wasn’t getting a response and kept meowing, much to the annoyance of a local park's chunky cat. However, the cat were not known to give up easily—it continued licking its balls.
“Fine,” he groaned and opened his notebook. The reason he was doing cross-species communication with a cat was due to a severe human disease known as procrastination.
Earlier today in class, Ms. Lydia had given Qale the dreadful task of using his brain. Ms. Lydia had tasked the entire class to “W-write an essay a-about a r-respectable p-profession that you w-wanna pursue w-when you g-grow up!”
The entire class let out a breath of relief. Their faces were scrunched up like a tightly wound coil having endured Ms. Lydia’s off-key instruction. Conversely, Ms. Lydia seemed extremely proud of herself. Ms. Lydia stood a little taller behind her textbook. Her newly-found confidence helped loosen her grip on the book, her eyes crinkled with glee as she peeped at her class.
What Ms. Lydia saw were tiny innocent faces looking at her curiously. What the class saw was a middle-aged woman with twin pigtails smirking back at them. Her crinkled eyes were almost rolling to the back of her head.
Their faces scrunched back up at the perverted scene and Ms. Lydia vowed to never look at another human being. Her newly-found confidence dissipated like puffs of smoke and the class was back looking at an off-key talking textbook.
Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.
Qale had more important things to do than think about the future. Nothing was more important than cross-species communication with a cat licking its population paste makers.
He wanted to be a doctor. It was a respectable profession. You get to put a title in front of your name in exchange for sticking your fingers up a man’s bum. It is also a rewarding career. You get to buy a Porsche if you feel an alien lump inside the man’s bum.
Sadly, he was not particularly smart nor was his family particularly rich. He couldn’t afford to be a doctor. Or a lawyer. Or an engineer. Heck, he couldn’t even afford a degree.
He sighed and crossed out doctor, lawyer, engineer, and every other profession that required a degree, “Maybe I should just be a cat.”
The cat stopped licking its balls.
“Fine,” he shot back at the cat. “I don’t wanna lick my balls anyways.”
The cat blinked its eyes slowly and continued licking its balls. Qale crossed out cat.
“If only there’s a hot vampire to turn me,” he said to the cat. “I would have a really good reason to skip the Sunday sermons.”
Thunder rumbled above him.
“Fine,” he shot back at the darkening sky. “I don’t wanna miss out on the soggy wafers anyways.”
The rumbling stopped and the sky was clear again. He crossed out hot vampire.
“Arghhh,” he groaned and shut his notebook. The reason he was doing cross-species communication with a cat was more than justified. Qale had given his brain an intense workout and was right where he was before he procrastinated.
“No no no,” a voice said.
Qale looked to the owner of the voice and rushed over. Bread crumbs were scattered all around a bench. Dozens of pigeons the color of dull concrete buildings swarmed the bench like a pack of starving piranhas.
Qale roared and charged into the grey flock. The pigeons scattered to reveal an old man in the middle.
The old man winced as he picked up the scattered crumbs. A homeless person? Qale wondered. Was he competing with the pigeons for bits of bread?
Nevertheless, he helped the old man back to the bench and helped pick up the scattered crumbs.
“Here,” he handed the bag of crumbs to the old man.
“Thank you, kind boy,” the old man said, clearly still in pain. He must’ve hurt his back picking up the crumbs, Qale thought.
“Mister,” he said politely. “Why not let the pigeons have it?”
“Ahh.” The old man stared at the bag on his lap. “I was waiting for my son.”
“Oh,” was all Qale could manage.
“I thought I give myself a stretch,” the old man said. “I dropped the bag and the nasty pigeons came.”
“Thank goodness, a kind boy like yourself came to help an old man like me.” The old man gave a warm smile to Qale and continued, “These hands aren’t as strong as before.”
Qale looked at the old man's hands. Worn and wrinkled, ancient hands with the colour of petrified wood. He leaned forward and steadied the old man’s shaky hands. The old man had warm hands. Kind hands. Why wasn’t his son here to hold it?
“And my body isn’t as strong as before,” the old man tried to stand up but failed miserably and leaned on Qale instead.
“Thank you again, kind boy,” the old man said. “I should head home.”
“Your son leh?” asked Qale.
“It’s been a long day,” the old man handed Qale the bag. “It’s been a really long day.”
Qale watched the old man’s back in the distance and felt a squeeze in his chest. He was not familiar with this feeling. No child should.
He emptied the bag and was instantly surrounded by the grey flock. He carefully manoeuvred past the flock and sat on the bench.
Smack! A wayward paper had found its way to his face. He removed it and read its contents.
Tired of working for $9.85 an hour? Join us and enjoy flexible work schedules. Starting pay: $5 per hour.
He cocked a brow and tossed it to the bin—smack! Another paper slapped him. Frowning, he unruffled the paper and read it.
HATE TAKING OUT THE TRASH? GET PAID DOING IT! IF YOU THINK THE JOB IS CRAP, WAIT TILL YOU SEE THE PAY! INVEST IN BITCOIN TODAY!
He scrunched up the ad and—smack! The next paper slapped him like a little bitch. It was getting personal. His nostrils flared as he tore the paper from his face.
In most countries, killing your boss is a crime. But it’s totally legal to kill a dungeon boss! No degree? No worries! You don't need a bachelor's to smash monsters. What are you waiting for? Apply now! Must have own transport.
He contemplated and eventually took the ad home. He taped it in his notebook and scribbled a line. His eyes twinkled as he traced the writings with his finger. The fresh ink smeared his fingertip but that did not bother him. He had found a respectable profession.