Wednesday, April 15

This Is How The World Ends #3

When the first messages had begun to arrive, it had taken months to get close to a translation. How does one speak to a race of beings that had evolved on another planet?  Going was slow but progress was made.

Messages were sent and received.  The discussions were muddled and confused.  It was clear they knew much of us and our culture.  They had studied us from afar and were intrigued.  Somehow the topic of sports had come up.  They had brought it up and they wanted to partake.   From what could be understood, the idea of friendly competition that brought different cultures together was part of their history.

Plans began to form.  The world was shocked at first to hear that the aliens desired to be in the Olympics.  At least that is what could be deciphered.  But he world grew to love the idea.  The first interplanetary Olympics was to be held and it would be on Earth!

The anticipation was high.  We knew so little of them.  They could breathe are air and they shared similar ideals.  But we didn't know what they even looked like.  The world was anxious but mostly excited.  A new era was about to begin.  Everything was about to change.

They arrived in massive spacecrafts, slowly descending to the Olympic village.  They had insisted that they meet the other athletes right away and that there be a banquet of some sort, but, even now, communication as awkward and confusing.  The world was there, a collection of a hundred different flags but all there as on Earth to greet our new friends.  The new Olympic logo, with its sixth large ring linking the other five, flew on a thouand banners.  The only real sound was the mild buzz of the cameras.

The doors to the crafts all lowered in unison.  As the aliens walked out, there was a collective gasp.  Whatever was expected, it wasn't quite this.  The aliens were thin and tubular, orange-ish pink and glistening as if slightly wet.  They had no limbs and moved something like ten-foot long stubby worms.  No eyes could be seen, but at one end they had a sphincter-like mouth, puckered and gently sucking at our Earth air.

The Olympic village (and the world) was quiet as one alien immediately made its way to the podium.  It reared up on its back end and lowered the front end towards the mic.  If a sphincter could smile, it did.  It coughed twice and then spoke in clear, if Brooklyn accented, English.

"Let the games begin!  Eat!"

And its maw opened to reveal a throat lined with spinning rows of sharp teeth.

And then it made sense.  They had not been intrigued by watching footage of our Olympics.  They had seen our hot dog eating contests.  And they were a lot more suited to eat us than we were to eat them.