Looking up at the blank disc, she thought, “Orange?”
Hovering, just like those books said, somewhere just above the treetops.
She always thought they’d be silver. Not orange.
She fumbled through her purse, then cursed her luck for leaving her camera at home. Now she’d be seen as just another rube, some glory-hungry moron making up stories about flying saucers.
The media would crucify her. The skeptics would scoff. She’d be sent for an evaluation and then a quiet demotion and then unanticipated “budget cuts” would send her packing.
The disc descended, touched the ground, now only a dozen yards away.
She watched, silent, as a door, for lack of a better word, appeared and opened on the surface of the disc.
Will you look at that. A live, gray alien just like all the books described. So angelic, delicate, curious. Friendly. Her heart pounded.
She was witness to a visitor from another planet. She raised her arm, pointed at the alien.
The alien fell backwards, shuddered, then grew still as a pool of orange blood formed around it.
Good thing she’d remembered to pack her pistol.