I went into The Twilight Zone on Lark Lane on Friday morning. I go there because it’s always quiet and the wi-fi’s excellent. I let my coffee go cold while I scrolled through my phone.
People on the table behind me were talking. I didn’t see them but I heard them well enough. One very gruff, bombastic man who spoke in an American accent told the others he had just returned from a trip to the Planet Serling. He went with a group intending to build a high-end holiday resort. He called it The Riviera of the Galaxy. They would make a fortune, he said.
They thought the planet was uninhabited but when they got there they found it full of creatures with three heads and stuff. The man said they told the creatures they would have to move so they could get on with building their resort.
The creatures didn’t like that and said they were staying put. The man told them they were living in a shit-hole and there were much nicer places they could live, so they should just get out now. He tried to threaten them, he tried to cajole them, he tried to bribe them. They said they had lived there forever and they were going nowhere.
The man said they then introduced the flu virus on the planet. They got the idea from the American Red Indians.
I didn’t hear what happened next. I was too engrossed in our WhatsApp group and Maggie’s puppy.
Words: Richard Rooney
Illustration: A.I.
Flash Fiction 250
Flash Fiction 250 