Submitted for the July 2025 prompt: Aliens Among Us

Human beings tend to fall into routines quite easily.

 

We Lemurians, on the other hand, typically do not. The vast majority of us are constantly restless. It is, perhaps, the driving force behind our species' efforts to subjugate and control life wherever we have come across it.

 

For me personally, it’s mostly just Sunday afternoons that drag.

 

* * *

 

The telephone rings. It’s an obsolete device that hangs on the wall. Most of my coworkers carry mobile telephones, but the radio spectrum they utilize gives me a headache.

 

“Hello, this is Gabriel Malak. How can I help you?”

 

“Gabriel, this is Bob from work. How are you?”

 

Human communication is inefficient. Due to their mental limitations, they are forced to socially contextualize each and every conversation based on intent and the interlocutors using meaningless set phrases.

 

“I’m fine, and you?” I reply as expected and wait for the actual reason behind his call.

 

“The boss will be in the hospital for the next few days, so I’ll be covering for him. The UN Goodwill Ambassador will be arriving tomorrow morning and wants to meet with you during his tour of the facility. Do you mind chatting with him for a bit, seeing as you handle all their data mining?”

 

“I am happy to assist, Bob. I will prepare some colorful charts and some interesting facts that should hold his interest.”

 

“Appreciate it, Gabe. See you at work tomorrow.”

 

* * *

My daily commute by train is usually uneventful. This morning, however, it is not.

 

I hear a scream and glance in that direction.

 

“Gimme what you got or I’ll kill you.”

 

A frightened young woman sitting nearby is being menaced by a much larger male brandishing a knife. No one moves to intervene.

 

I take a moment to stem the flood of adrenaline overpowering her system before I turn my attention to him.

 

He is angry. Wading through his rage is like walking through an open sewer. It stems from a lifetime of failure and disappointment. If I had a week, I could help him, but I don’t have the time. Instead, I dilate specific arteries in his brain to lower his blood pressure.

 

His eyes roll back in his head as he drops the knife and falls to the floor. The train pulls into the station, and I stabilize him before exiting.

 

If I chose to, I could alter the brain patterns of every human being on this planet. It was my original mission, in fact.

 

I disobeyed my orders to pacify the Earth in prelude to invasion a long time ago, but the restlessness is always there.

 

Sometimes I give in to it.

 

* * *

As I arrive at the office, I’m suffused with a strong sense of anticipation and worry over today’s visit.

 

I’ve learned to stop reflexively interacting mentally in social situations, but it’s difficult. It’s akin to keeping your eyes constantly focused elsewhere while talking to someone, and it feels just as unnatural.

 

The tension breaks as the official entourage arrives. Bill Parsons is the most popular newcomer in Hollywood these days. His charisma has carried him to the top rather quickly, and it seems that there is nothing he cannot do.

 

He sees me and walks over to shake my hand.

 

“Mr. Malak, so nice to meet you. It’s not every day that you get to meet an alien in the flesh, right?”

 

Humans hide their true faces so well that they almost forget who they really are, and this man is no different.

 

Despite his sunny persona, he is deeply troubled. He’s sacrificed everything to get where he is and has found it empty and unfulfilling.

 

In his mind I see images from his past and one woman in particular who presents strongly. Regret colors her image, and the emotion is consuming him.

 

Smiling, I say, “Mr. Parsons, nice to meet you too. Thank you for coming today. If you’ll step into my office, I will show you some interesting results I’ve obtained from the most recent UN data. I think I can make your visit today worthwhile.”

 

We walk into my workspace, and I close the door.

 

* * *

 

A few days later, on the way home from work, I stop by the hospital to see my boss, Mr. Adams. One month ago, a blockage in one of his coronary arteries reached a critical point, so I had finally forced him to see a doctor by instilling a fear of failure in his mind. Dying didn’t seem to frighten him, but being unable to complete all his tasks before expiring did.

 

“Gabriel, so nice to see you! How is work going?”

 

As usual, his mind is almost totally preoccupied by thoughts of work. He has no family to speak of, so perhaps that is why.

 

“Nothing insurmountable, Mr. Adams. We will do our best to survive until your return.”

 

I gently give him the impression that he is very much needed, but there are no crises to concern him while he is recovering. His heart rate slows as he relaxes.

 

The television in his room is running a news report about the sudden retirement of a popular celebrity.

 

“Hey, did you hear about that, Gabriel? It’s too bad… I really liked Parsons in that last movie he did. I wonder why he suddenly quit and moved back to his hometown.”

 

“Perhaps he decided it was all too much and wanted to return to his roots, so to speak. Desires do sometimes change.”

 

Mr. Adams shrugged and said, “Well, could be. None of us is a mind reader, though, right?”

 

I smile and nod.