by Mark Dalligan
Through the distortion of the atmospheric curtain, Sheryl watched the man. He was cute as only humans can be. She wanted to tickle his tummy. If he had a tail, he would be good enough to eat.
She turned away from the gardener’s activities and busied herself readying the bedroom. Hubby would be home soon. Her store card was on the limit and she just had to have that new dress by Voomph.
An hour later and Hector Handle, newly arrived Ambassador to Earth, wearily showed his electronic pass to the door. In a whisper of finely lubricated mechanics, he was in, shaking the dust of New York from his flippers.
“Hi Babe, I’m home!”
“Come on Darl. Where’s my welcome home kiss?”
A creaking sound and murmuring from above.
Hector poured a whiskey and sat in the lounge listening to the bedsprings concertina above his head. This sort of thing happened in many marriages. It had no meaning.
He had another whiskey. The spring bashing continued and now he could hear Sheryl’s low moans. Enough was enough.
He located the chain saw in the garage. It was low on petrol but that was easily fixed.
Climbing the stairs, tears ran down his cheeks. He was mortified to find his wife in the arms of an alien lover.
“This is stopping now, Sheryl!”
The chain saw coughed, roaring into biting action.
Sheryl screamed and rolled out from under the tree.
Sawdust and wood resin spattered the walls.
She smiled as the logs piled up. Tomorrow she’d take the gardener shopping.
Copyright © 2008 by Mark Dalligan