There’s something nasty coming our way.  We can feel it.  Smell it.  Taste it on the wind.  There’s a hint of decay and a pinch of finality everywhere you turn these days.  As a generalization, life has continued on its way – everyone has gone about their business, but we all know it’s the final hour.  This is the twilight of human existence and we’re all huddled together to watch the sunset.

                It happened six months ago, give or take a few days, but it’s burned into everyone’s brain like it was just yesterday.  I know it’s seared into mine like none other.  That ship of nightmares broke through our atmosphere and landed in Africa like there was absolutely nothing abnormal about a race of aliens from a galaxy that had (until then) been unknown to mankind dropping anchor on Earth and telling us that the end is near. 

                The religious fanatics went berserk, to put it mildly.  Most of them refused to believe that any of this was real.  They clung to their ages-old teachings from a book of fairy tales and prayed for salvation like their God was out there listening with an attentive ear.  You’d think that watching a foreign species from light-years away slaughter innocent humans would put their religious whining to rest, but no.  If nothing else, they’re extremely loyal to their upbringing.  Some of them claimed it was fake.  They convinced themselves it was just a hoax put on by the scientific community, but the harsh reality that these aliens were here and spreading across the planet like herpes shut that theory down like an ‘o3 Dell.

                There were others who assumed that these aliens must be their “God,” and that group of f*cking morons worshiped these invaders like the Aztecs or the Native Americans as if we don’t have the technology to prove that dancing around in a dead buffalo skull will not bring rain, and bowing at the aliens’ feet will not make them leave in peace.

                The rest of us fell somewhere in the middle.  Some panicked, others accepted fate, and a lot waned to fight, because that’s what humans do best when faced with anything we don’t understand.  If the aliens had vocal chords to laugh, I’m sure tears would have rolled down their rotund faces when we pillaged them with AK-47 assaults and dropped all kinds of bio-weapons on their station.  It was useless.  They were millions of years ahead in technology and uninterested in our temper tantrums.  They ignored us like wailing children at a toy store until, for whatever reason, they determined it the right time to announce that we’re all going to die soon, and then left. 

                My biggest grievance with it all was that these alien tourists on our planet were an advanced civilization beyond what we dreamed up in the likes of Star Wars or Ancient Aliens.  These beings were incredibly smart, unbelievably dexterous and despite their lack of outward communication among each other, they seemed more in sync than the highest level of military humans have achieved.  They were advanced in all sense of the word, yet they offered not a single shred of advice to us.  They did not explain themselves, did not unlock any secrets of the universe and did not seem to care about the comings and goings of our meager existence.  It proved to me that human beings are not the only selfish life form.  They came and left with no glance behind.

                Like I said, that was six months ago, and we haven’t seen them since.  They showed up, killed some people on the first day, lingered for a week, poked around, and then made their big proclamation before leaving without another word.  It was weird.  It was terrifying.  Now it’s only a memory that may be fading from some people’s minds, but not mine.  I can still see their faces plain as day like I did those times on the street.  They walked among us like this was a nonchalant occurrence, and after the initial chaos, most people rested on the hope that they were primarily non-violent.  That seemed to be true.  They roamed our streets, peered into our windows and touched everything in reach but never approached citizens and never tried to communicate.  They were close to six feet tall, a deep brown in color (almost a metallic copper in direct sunlight) with wide, reproachful eyes of bright crimson that had eyelids like a reptile.  Their limbs were long and gangly, although had proven to be lightning fast and tougher than titanium.  They had no mouth and no visible nose, although they walked upright on two legs like us humans.  There were definite similarities and drastic differences.

                Now, who am I?  I’m Shayleen Bailey.  I’m a 22 year old mechanical engineer who was born in south Louisiana but split from home at age 17 in search of something better after the hammer came down and a ten year prison sentence was given to my brother, who was my rock and my best friend.  I had no intentions of staying in the one bedroom shack I grew up in with Carl, who was not my father and took it upon himself to shout that in my general direction a few times a week.  I hopped a Greyhound bus and stopped in Denver for two reasons – it was the opposite of where I grew up and I ran out of money for bus tickets.  The next few years were the havoc of working multiple odd jobs and finishing my High School diploma before hitting college and stumbling into my current job working for a large auto manufacturer.

                By all means I am nobody special.  I have no family and a small group of friends.  I spend Christmas wandering around Europe, because drinking egg nog with your friends’ family just isn’t the same.  I’m an atheist, an animal lover, a skeptic and a whiskey drinker, but none of those are special either.  It’s all been done before. 

                Right now I’m sitting at my desk, sipping on a piss warm Monster and staring at my dual computer monitors without the slightest idea what I’m doing.  Insomnia has always been a battle for me and last night was a flashback to my teenage years when I was lucky to sleep three hours a night.  It seems that in the month or so following our visit from the Coppers, bosses were a lot more lenient on due dates for projects and what time you showed up in the morning, but half a year has passed and we’re all still here, waiting for a doom that has no face. 

                “Hey kid, I’m going to need that diagram by Friday morning.” 

                My boss is a 40-something dude who looks a whole lot like Gary Cole and I snicker internally whenever he slips the words “that would be great.”  I’m not a fan of being called “kid” at 24 years old but I’m the youngest person sitting in this office and one of three women, so the battle was lost before it started.

                “That’s fine,” I nod, turning back to stare at my blank Google search like I’ve been doing since nine this morning.  I haven’t even started that diagram he wants in two days, but with my insomnia acting up like this, I’ll have plenty of time to work on it at all hours of the night.