In the Warehouse

2 2 1

I carry the finger-gloves
and Hooman #A carries
the chain that once bound
the dilapidated warehouse
doors shut, while

Buttercup takes the lead
into the darkness
behind the double doors,

and Phoebe guards the rear
with the silver hair
on her spine spiking
like Sonic the Hedgehog.

"Be very quiet,"
Buttercup says.

So Hooman #A asks,
"You hunting wabbits?"

Phoebe replies,
"We were quiet as lambs
until you opened
your tortoiseshell mouth
and got the hoomans
wound up in Looney Tunes."

I turn on my cellphone light
to dispel the thickening dark.

That's when we see
a dozen lizardmen staring
back at us
from their crouched positions
along the cockroach-covered
walls, their eyes pinning
in the revealing glow
of my phone-light.

I shrill in terror
before I can get ahold
of myself, dropping
the finger-gloves,
and Buttercup and Phoebe
turn to my cellphone light
to reflect its bright power
like lasers at a rave,
blasting several
of the rapidly approaching
lizardmen to dust.

Still one lizardman
gets too close, so Hooman #A
clobbers them with the chain,
like hefting an iron whip.

"Pew pew pew!"
Phoebe shouts
as she ricochets eye-beams
from the glint of the iron
into a lizardman who nearly
clubs me from behind.

Then the room stills with
lizardmen turned to ash,
scattering into the layers
of dust on the old
filing cabinets and shelves,
except the two lizardmen
Hooman #A knocked out,
who lie on the floor
looking half hooman
and half Babylonian.

I kneel beside the bodies
and murmur,
"Is this Dick Cheney
and Brett Kavanaugh?"

Hooman #A gapes. "I killed
Cheney and Kavanaugh?"

"Nah," Buttercup says.
"These are Babylonians.
They're from Centauri
Proxima B, not Earth."

Phoebe says, "So they killed
the hoomans you think
they look like; or they hid
hid 'em in a coal mine
somewhere... that's why
Orange Man wants to keep
the coal mines in operation."

I ask, "Do I keep
the cellphone light on?"

As Phoebe and Buttercup
stand on their hinds
like bears in a brook,
they nod to me,
smiling, donning
their finger-gloves.


First draft: September 18

Word count: 359

American CatseyeRead this story for FREE!