Roswell, 1947
The early morning sun cast a golden glow upon the serene farm, its gentle rays painting the rolling fields in hues of green and gold. The air was crisp and filled with the earthy scent of freshly tilled soil. A picturesque scene unfolded, with a red barn standing proudly amidst the sprawling landscape, and contented cows grazing peacefully in the meadow. Birds chirped their melodious symphony, adding to the tranquility that enveloped the farm.
The peace was not to last. A massive explosion ripped through the quiet of the morning and all hell broke loose.
Uncle Jack was a pillar of the community. An upright farmer who did an honest day's of farm work and spent the night helping those less fortunate. When an explosion ripped through his entire farmland, cracking his windows and killing his cattle, Uncle Jack like any good Samaritan jumped into action. He grabbed his first aid kit and chased toward a halo of blue light. The sound of his heartbeat drowned out any other sound. It roared loader the nearer he got to the crash site.
THUMP
Jack waivered in his sprint. Did he just see a girl standing by his oak tree? He shook his head vigorously and opened his eyes, there was no oak tree. Cursing himself for giving in to his temptations, Uncle Jack vowed to repent for touching the devil's juice. He resumed his sprint.
THUMP
His vision wavered once again. He stood in an ice field. Intricate golden poles stretched out into the sky. Kilometers before him stood a marble pyramid under a purple starry sky. Since when did the Earth have two moons? Uncle Jack frowned harder. He then vowed to whip himself as repentance for his alcohol consumption. The marble pyramid thrummed with energy. Blue arcs of furious electricity crackled all around it. Even a primitive could feel it in his mammalian brain something had reached critical mass. The pyramid launched a blue pillar of light that roared and ascended into the heavens.
THUMP
Jack's body no longer obeyed him. He lurched forward towards the site. His eyes openly weeping and a panic attack was in full swing. He no longer wanted any part of this, but it was too late.
THUMP
He was now standing before the crash site. What could be described as a craft stood before him. It was black and shiny. Hefty in all its diameters, it stood larger and longer than a school bus. Above it stood an impenetrable dome. Symbols started to glow on the craft and shift and the Jack saw it. His resolve faltered as his eyes fell upon the entity standing amidst the debris. It was a being that defied all comprehension, a grotesque amalgamation of grotesque appendages and undulating forms. Its alien presence strained his vision, causing his mind to teeter on the precipice of madness. Yet, despite the encroaching chaos, he couldn't tear his gaze away.
One moment it was a ball of feathers with floating eyes. John blinked.
In one moment, it appeared as a cluster of ethereal feathers, each adorned with floating eyes that peered into the depths of his soul. But with a mere blink, the creature transformed before his eyes. Glowing white orbs, radiant with an otherworldly luminescence, stared back at him. A thousand feathered wings, each intricately interconnected, draped its form, emitting a regal aura that seemed to transcend the very essence of beauty. It levitated effortlessly above the earthly plane, devoid of feet, while its polished countenance exhibited haunting androgyny, an enigmatic fusion of masculine and feminine features.
The creature's form defied the laws of nature, shifting and writhing in a dance of forbidden geometry. Its eldritch beauty, an ethereal splendor beyond human comprehension, pierced his soul with its unearthly allure. Tears streamed down his face as an overwhelming sense of unworthiness consumed him. His every flaw and insecurity surged to the forefront, assaulting him with their merciless cruelty. He felt the weight of his physical imperfections—the excess flesh, the gnawing self-doubt, the perceived lack of intelligence—as though they were scourges flaying his very essence. His insecurities, long thought to be overcome in old age, roared back at him like an angry sea in a thunderstorm.
In the presence of this indescribable being, his sanity teetered on the precipice, the tendrils of his mind entwined with the unfathomable essence radiating from the creature. A desperate longing to prostrate himself before its unearthly magnificence tugged at his soul, an impulse to worship such transcendent beauty. But even as the creature emitted a mournful cry, it vanished in a blaze of searing fire, leaving only falling ashes in its wake. Jack could endure no more. His heart gave out and he fell. His last thoughts rang out in the creeping darkness.
Please don't go!
10 minutes later
The reports piled in. Alarms blared on the screen. This has to be it. The hushed whispers of his ex-wife rang in his ears, may you live in interesting times.
Well, Donna my dear, now you have gone and done it. World War 3 is about to erupt and I haven't even finished my morning coffee yet. Lieutenant Mores thought. Something has penetrated U.S. airspace. The President needs to be alerted. Before that could happen, more eyes need to be on the situation. Seconds now could dictate the fate of the whole planet. A pimply-faced junior officer with thick glasses slapped a nervous salute in front of him.
"Lieutenant Mores, Sir!" He said.
"Report!" Mores barked. He was in no mood for protocol at the moment.
"It's something else, sir!" The junior officer said.
"What the hell are you talking about private!" Mores snapped once again. The private's spine stiffened further. Any more, and it could resemble the Washington Monument.
"I don't think we need to escalate to DEFCON 3, sir. Air intelligence has reported an unknown crashed object in Roswell. We have run triangulation and it matches exactly to our NORAD alert." He said.
"Boy, it's not a nuke?" Mores said.
The officer paled further, "It's much worse. Take a look for yourself."
The private handed me a few sheets of clipped paper. The lieutenant's eyes widened as he read further and further along the report. He stared directly at the private. Beyond his eyes, he glared at his soul and spoke through gritted teeth.
"Not one word of this to anyone, private. One word and I will have you chained in a prison in Syria." Mores said. The private nervously nodded.
"Get me, General LeMay, on secure comms. And get someone on the Writght-Patterson Airbase. Tell them we need hangar 18's services again." Mores said.
The private saluted and marched about-face.