This is something I've been working on for a little while now. It started out as a pretty basic story, but I've fleshed it out as much as I believe I need to. It's told in third person, present.
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An emergency broadcast system message scrawls across the TV screen, interrupting Paul and his daily channel surfing.
“This is not a test—I repeat—this is not a test. The National Guard has initiated a state of emergency. You are advised to remain in your homes. Do not attempt to leave the area. Further instructions will be given shortly. Again, this is not a test.”
“State of emergency?” Paul whispers.
The window of Paul’s 10th floor apartment is shut, but muffled hollers can be heard. Looking through, there are dozens of people that walk on the sidewalk and even some that stand outside of their cars. Everyone stares in the same direction; most of them snap pictures with their phones while others run into nearby buildings, including Paul’s. He opens the window and hangs halfway onto the stoop.
Something is in the sky. Something that doesn’t belong.
A gray, spherical object hovers just between a few cotton-ball like clouds. It has no texture and resembles a ball bearing, minus the chrome shine. The cloud cover around the object slowly dissipates to reveal a perfect circle of bright blue sky that surrounds it. As other clouds pass, they too are erased by whatever this is.
Paul rushes to his cell phone – no signal. He puts it in his pocket anyway, throws on some shoes and heads out. The cavernous hall echoes with the murmurs of other tenants, some are flustered more so than others.
“Does your internet work?” a woman says to her neighbor.
“No, does your phone?”
“It’s the aliens man, I told you!” one man says to Paul, half joking.
“Probably just some government test, at least that’s what they’ll tell us,” Paul says while he continues to walk toward the elevator.
Paul has never been one of those the truth is out there people, but he isn’t a complete skeptic either. The thought of aliens one day coming to Earth would sometimes cross his mind, but never did he think he’d be alive to witness it actually happen.
Janine, Paul’s neighbor, holds the elevator with one of her purple fluffy slippers wedged against the door.
“I can dig it.” Paul says as he looks directly at her feet. She doesn’t respond, but instead slaps the back of her hand against his shoulder.
“What do you think is going on?” she asks.
“Who knows, people love to freak out over anything mysterious,” he answers. “If something crazy really is happening, you’ll be the one I rescue and live happily ever after with.”
Janine is the type of woman that Paul has always wanted; they’ve shared these friendly conversations in the past, but ultimately went nowhere. Plenty of opportunities have arisen, like the running into each other at a local sci-fi expo, or learning that they frequent the same comic shop. But for some reason, nothing ever gave him that extra motivation to really speak to her in a meaningful way.
She reaches for Paul’s hand and grips a few of his fingers; the swelling of her eyes and the amount of pressure she applies says that she is frightened. But at the same time his body is riddled with a warm feeling of, dare he think it, love; or something very close to it. The elevator opens on the 5th floor where her mother lives. He’s never met her officially but he sometimes would confuse her for Janine at a distance. Good genes.
“Gotta let me borrow your slippers some time!” Paul shouts to Janine before she enters her mom’s apartment.
Paul secretly wants something to be wrong. He hopes this will give him the courage he needs to tell her how he feels and share his intentions.
The lobby of the building is a madhouse. The already too small area is filled with tenants and people from the street who are scared to be out in the open. Just then, the rattles of the floor to ceiling glass along with a gentle rumble from something outside drowns out the conversations. Most everyone turns their attention outside.
Tanks roll pass the front doors, with a soldier perched on top shouting through a megaphone for the pedestrians to move out of the way. That should be obvious. What follows is a long convoy of various military vehicles along with infantry soldiers on foot who brandish their rifles and wear urban fatigues.
Maybe something really is wrong, Paul thinks. He is stuck as he stares through the pane glass at the apparent war zone that it is neighborhood. A firm bump against his back snaps him out of the trance, and he moves through the crowd of people and out of the front doors.
The firm instructions of the infantry units fill the streets. “Everyone back up. No civilians past this point.” a large soldier shouts, as a few others place a wooden barrier across the entire street just next to his building.
“What’s the deal, man, why can’t we go that way?” Paul asks.
“Orders.” the soldier said as he points toward the object in the sky.
“Get to Hell; you can’t keep us out of anywhere!” Paul shouts.
The soldier stomps toward Paul, within inches of his face. “You want to cross that barrier, be my guest, but don’t go lookin’ for a rescue.” he says in a calm, yet firm voice.
Paul scoffs and looks up; still it sits there. It also looks larger, but that could very well be his imagination playing tricks. Being street level and in the midst of the others gives Paul a new perspective on the scope of things. The overall commotion surrounding him causes him to feel faint, he has to sit on the curb and collect himself. What is she doing up there? Are they going to be evacuated? Is this the end of everything? He has so many questions running through his mind.
A block over, one of the vehicles in the convoy is fitted with surface to air missiles. The weapon points up toward the mystery in the sky, and lets loose a flurry. The shrieking instinctively has Paul cover his ears and wince in pain from the sudden blast of sound. A plume of white smoke floods the narrow street. Paul, along with everyone else, cover their faces either with their shirt or uses the pit of their elbow and watches as the spiraling smoke trails make their way up toward it. A good 30 seconds pass and the missiles grow smaller and smaller. The anticipation of the explosion instantly dies as they do not hit their target. Instead, the missiles are somehow repelled by the object, sending them in every direction.
The missiles are little more than white specs that occasionally catch the sunlight as they hurtle down toward the ground. When they hit, large fireballs and black smoke emerge from beyond the buildings in the distance.
The entire object is now glowing in a brilliant orange, as if a small sun. Paul and the others shield their eyes as the glow intensifies. The vehicle on the ground has a small crew that resets the weapon when suddenly a beam engulfs them. The beam is a solid bright white and lets off an intense heat, but there is no sound. Just like that, it vanishes as if a flashlight was just switched off. The destruction left behind is a perfect circular shape that scorches the ground, with no remnants of the vehicle or crew. The screams of bystanders break the silence and people flee, ignoring the barriers.
Paul rubs his eyes; flashes of white envelop his vision. He stumbles to a nearby wall, but catches himself and presses his back against it. He blinks hard and fast, rubbing every few seconds. His vision slowly returns to normal, but some bits of white remain.
The familiar roar of fighter jets fills the skies and circles the object, which gives scale to its size. The jets were small in comparison. One by one, they fire, over and over, all resulting in direct hits. After expelling their munitions, they take formation and fly directly over the crowd of people, setting off car alarms.
Paul and the others cheer and yell absurdities at the sky.
The object is loosened from where it sat, but now falls toward the city. The once distant shape is now a behemoth that intends on the obliteration of anything in its path. The infantry, along with everyone else, realize that they are in the impact area. In frenzy, the infantry wrangles up as many people as they can into the back of a couple military cargo trucks that are parked on the block.
“There’s people in the building!” Paul shouts as he’s corralled into one of the trucks.
The object is now casting a massive shadow over the entire area.
“No time! We have to go now!” a soldier yells.
----------------------
An emergency broadcast system message scrawls across the TV screen, interrupting Paul and his daily channel surfing.
“This is not a test—I repeat—this is not a test. The National Guard has initiated a state of emergency. You are advised to remain in your homes. Do not attempt to leave the area. Further instructions will be given shortly. Again, this is not a test.”
“State of emergency?” Paul whispers.
The window of Paul’s 10th floor apartment is shut, but muffled hollers can be heard. Looking through, there are dozens of people that walk on the sidewalk and even some that stand outside of their cars. Everyone stares in the same direction; most of them snap pictures with their phones while others run into nearby buildings, including Paul’s. He opens the window and hangs halfway onto the stoop.
Something is in the sky. Something that doesn’t belong.
A gray, spherical object hovers just between a few cotton-ball like clouds. It has no texture and resembles a ball bearing, minus the chrome shine. The cloud cover around the object slowly dissipates to reveal a perfect circle of bright blue sky that surrounds it. As other clouds pass, they too are erased by whatever this is.
Paul rushes to his cell phone – no signal. He puts it in his pocket anyway, throws on some shoes and heads out. The cavernous hall echoes with the murmurs of other tenants, some are flustered more so than others.
“Does your internet work?” a woman says to her neighbor.
“No, does your phone?”
“It’s the aliens man, I told you!” one man says to Paul, half joking.
“Probably just some government test, at least that’s what they’ll tell us,” Paul says while he continues to walk toward the elevator.
Paul has never been one of those the truth is out there people, but he isn’t a complete skeptic either. The thought of aliens one day coming to Earth would sometimes cross his mind, but never did he think he’d be alive to witness it actually happen.
Janine, Paul’s neighbor, holds the elevator with one of her purple fluffy slippers wedged against the door.
“I can dig it.” Paul says as he looks directly at her feet. She doesn’t respond, but instead slaps the back of her hand against his shoulder.
“What do you think is going on?” she asks.
“Who knows, people love to freak out over anything mysterious,” he answers. “If something crazy really is happening, you’ll be the one I rescue and live happily ever after with.”
Janine is the type of woman that Paul has always wanted; they’ve shared these friendly conversations in the past, but ultimately went nowhere. Plenty of opportunities have arisen, like the running into each other at a local sci-fi expo, or learning that they frequent the same comic shop. But for some reason, nothing ever gave him that extra motivation to really speak to her in a meaningful way.
She reaches for Paul’s hand and grips a few of his fingers; the swelling of her eyes and the amount of pressure she applies says that she is frightened. But at the same time his body is riddled with a warm feeling of, dare he think it, love; or something very close to it. The elevator opens on the 5th floor where her mother lives. He’s never met her officially but he sometimes would confuse her for Janine at a distance. Good genes.
“Gotta let me borrow your slippers some time!” Paul shouts to Janine before she enters her mom’s apartment.
Paul secretly wants something to be wrong. He hopes this will give him the courage he needs to tell her how he feels and share his intentions.
The lobby of the building is a madhouse. The already too small area is filled with tenants and people from the street who are scared to be out in the open. Just then, the rattles of the floor to ceiling glass along with a gentle rumble from something outside drowns out the conversations. Most everyone turns their attention outside.
Tanks roll pass the front doors, with a soldier perched on top shouting through a megaphone for the pedestrians to move out of the way. That should be obvious. What follows is a long convoy of various military vehicles along with infantry soldiers on foot who brandish their rifles and wear urban fatigues.
Maybe something really is wrong, Paul thinks. He is stuck as he stares through the pane glass at the apparent war zone that it is neighborhood. A firm bump against his back snaps him out of the trance, and he moves through the crowd of people and out of the front doors.
The firm instructions of the infantry units fill the streets. “Everyone back up. No civilians past this point.” a large soldier shouts, as a few others place a wooden barrier across the entire street just next to his building.
“What’s the deal, man, why can’t we go that way?” Paul asks.
“Orders.” the soldier said as he points toward the object in the sky.
“Get to Hell; you can’t keep us out of anywhere!” Paul shouts.
The soldier stomps toward Paul, within inches of his face. “You want to cross that barrier, be my guest, but don’t go lookin’ for a rescue.” he says in a calm, yet firm voice.
Paul scoffs and looks up; still it sits there. It also looks larger, but that could very well be his imagination playing tricks. Being street level and in the midst of the others gives Paul a new perspective on the scope of things. The overall commotion surrounding him causes him to feel faint, he has to sit on the curb and collect himself. What is she doing up there? Are they going to be evacuated? Is this the end of everything? He has so many questions running through his mind.
A block over, one of the vehicles in the convoy is fitted with surface to air missiles. The weapon points up toward the mystery in the sky, and lets loose a flurry. The shrieking instinctively has Paul cover his ears and wince in pain from the sudden blast of sound. A plume of white smoke floods the narrow street. Paul, along with everyone else, cover their faces either with their shirt or uses the pit of their elbow and watches as the spiraling smoke trails make their way up toward it. A good 30 seconds pass and the missiles grow smaller and smaller. The anticipation of the explosion instantly dies as they do not hit their target. Instead, the missiles are somehow repelled by the object, sending them in every direction.
The missiles are little more than white specs that occasionally catch the sunlight as they hurtle down toward the ground. When they hit, large fireballs and black smoke emerge from beyond the buildings in the distance.
The entire object is now glowing in a brilliant orange, as if a small sun. Paul and the others shield their eyes as the glow intensifies. The vehicle on the ground has a small crew that resets the weapon when suddenly a beam engulfs them. The beam is a solid bright white and lets off an intense heat, but there is no sound. Just like that, it vanishes as if a flashlight was just switched off. The destruction left behind is a perfect circular shape that scorches the ground, with no remnants of the vehicle or crew. The screams of bystanders break the silence and people flee, ignoring the barriers.
Paul rubs his eyes; flashes of white envelop his vision. He stumbles to a nearby wall, but catches himself and presses his back against it. He blinks hard and fast, rubbing every few seconds. His vision slowly returns to normal, but some bits of white remain.
The familiar roar of fighter jets fills the skies and circles the object, which gives scale to its size. The jets were small in comparison. One by one, they fire, over and over, all resulting in direct hits. After expelling their munitions, they take formation and fly directly over the crowd of people, setting off car alarms.
Paul and the others cheer and yell absurdities at the sky.
The object is loosened from where it sat, but now falls toward the city. The once distant shape is now a behemoth that intends on the obliteration of anything in its path. The infantry, along with everyone else, realize that they are in the impact area. In frenzy, the infantry wrangles up as many people as they can into the back of a couple military cargo trucks that are parked on the block.
“There’s people in the building!” Paul shouts as he’s corralled into one of the trucks.
The object is now casting a massive shadow over the entire area.
“No time! We have to go now!” a soldier yells.
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