Chester couldn’t help being a Peeping Tom. This impulse would come over him and swoosh: up into a tree he went. He had never been caught, so he never had to answer for seeing Sara Beth’s bare shoulders, or Parker Jean’s conical brassiere, or even Mr. Deacon’s wiener, that hairy, alien-looking thing.
The silver flying saucer, parked and eerily humming deep, deeep in Dark Water Wood, was no different: Chester craned his neck along an outstretched branch, his foot pushing off the trunk so he could see inside the mysterious thing’s yellow window. His heart raced, hoping to glimpse an alien in its knickers, maybe, or even just ironing its spacesuit.
He did not hear the silver boots approaching softly below, the ray-gun rising, full of consequence.
Timothy C Goodwin graduated in writing from The University of New Orleans and has been writing essays, music reviews, and interviews for local publications since then. His latest works have appeared in Flash Fiction Magazine, 365 Tomorrows, and Marathon Literary Review.
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