Silently, they pass around the alien.The meetings are held at the Eridani Colony Community Center. Shoved aside are the ping-pong tables (unused) and the motivational standees. A two-dimensional young girl in a hard-hat grins at the workers, tells them they’re doing an excellent job. The plastic chairs are set up in a circle, like they were during the “Imagining a Better World through Guided Visualization” group discussions (discontinued). The leader for the week, a man with a plastic name tag that informs Dennis his name is ROY, opens the box.Sometimes it stings you. Sometimes it releases a cloud of gas that will choke you, but it’s not poison. Most of the time, the alien doesn’t do anything.
If this sounds like the sort of depressing folk religion-themed short fiction you enjoy, then take a look! This is the first short story I've published since starting to write fiction again, and I must say it feels awfully good to be back, folks. I'm hoping that this is just the first of more stories to come. (The story of how I stopped writing and started again will probably be written into a zine at some point, and I already know some sort of Dr. Strangelove reference will be used for the subtitle.)