Abducted

(Picture Credit - Wikimedia)

“I’m floating! In mid-air. Rising. In such a bright light. Being abducted.”

These were my thoughts as, yes, I was abducted. Next thing I knew, I was waking up in a padded chair, slumped in the middle of a windowless room. My nice moorland walk was well and truly over.

Before me was a broad metallic table, behind which were three more chairs. Beyond those chairs was a sliding door, which now opened. In walked three aliens: humanoid, yes, but with unearthly features. Without delay they occupied those vacant seats.

“Welcome to ‘The Explorer’ Paul. You are on what you would term a ‘starship’,” smiled the alien sitting in the centre chair, “I’m Rebros, the Captain. To my right here is my number one, Akreshi, and to my left our chief medical officer, Trobonkon.”

“How do you know my name?” I stuttered nervously.

Trobonkon: “We have observed you and your race for many years and are very familiar with your behaviours. Your television programmes, as you call them, are most illuminating.”

Rebros: “And before you ask, Paul, no we do not wish to meet your leaders. We have singled you out to represent what you term ‘the common people’. In spite of our thorough observations, there remain many questions we need to ask you about your world.”

The thought went across my mind that it would be better to be ‘interrogated’ than medically ‘examined’ by these people. Better cooperate.

“Go ahead,” I replied, trying to look at ease.

“Good,” cut in Akreshi, “here’s one that’s been puzzling me for a long while. Why do you all repeatedly work for five days, then take a break for two, no matter what the weather? On what you call ‘Sunday’ you are very quiet indeed in terms of productivity, yet often it rains then and you might as well be working.”

“Interesting question,” I answered, thinking hard, “I think it’s got something to do with religion.  Apparently God decreed that we should rest on the seventh day, like He did after He created the world.”

Akreshi: “Oh yes, I’ve seen that story. It’s from your ‘Bible’ isn’t it? Did not your ‘God’ construct your planet in six days?”

“That’s right, that’s what it says,” I confirmed.

Trobonkon: “So do you believe in Santa Clause?”

“No, that’s kid’s stuff,” I asserted.

Trobonkon: “So what’s the difference?”

“That’s hard to explain...”

Trobonkon: “Do try. That’s all we ask.”

“Well, erm, well the possible existence of God is reported in many ancient texts....”

Rebros: “So how did your ‘God’ build your Earth in six of your days?”

“I don’t think He did. Not all The Bible is literally true. According to Darwin and other scientists it actually took billions of years.”

Trobonkon: “May we meet with your ‘God’?”

“Oh!” I thought rapidly. “So they haven’t met ‘Him’. They are not so superior after all! Might this be the time to start bluffing them? What if they plan to invade the Earth? Maybe they are afraid of our God!”

Trobonkon: “Well?”

“Sorry, I was thinking. Well, you have to have a special dispensation to meet him.”

Rebros: “Who from?”

“From the Pope.”

They all looked at one another, and fell about laughing! I felt embarrassed.

Presently Rebros turned to me.

“Paul, Paul,” he smiled, “Look, this room is being monitored. You are lying!”

Trobonkon continued: “We can detect the minutest change in your electrical profile, or your sweat rate. Even better than the lie detector on your ‘Jeremy Kyle Show’, ah ah. So will the Pope ring your God on his mobile for us, or will he text Him?”

“We know all about your various world religions, Paul. Buddha, Allah, God, we’ve heard about all of them,” cut in Rebros, “you have come to the belief that everything is ‘governed’ by some mysterious super-being: all-powerful, omniscient, omnipresent, eternal...”

“And what do you believe in?” I demanded, feeling bolder for a moment.

“Something similar to what you do,” replied Rebros, “something rather like your ‘force’ in those ‘Star Wars’ films of yours. Again, like you, our beliefs are based on ancient folklore. We do not follow our faiths as slavishly as you do however.

But let’s cut to the chase, now. Why do you people make war on your own kind for the sake of your beliefs? Why do you kill for land, resources, or any excuse?”

“I cannot answer that!” I frowned, “I personally wouldn’t kill a spider.”

“But if your ‘country’ sent you to fight, say, some known terrorists, surely you would kill then!” persisted Rebros.

“I suppose I’d have to!”

“And do ‘have’ to eat your own kind?” interjected Akreshi, the ‘number one’.

“I don’t!” I protested.

“Oh yes you do!” insisted Trobonkon, the medic.

“I’m afraid you do!” added Rebros, “you humans kill and eat many species with almost identical DNA to yourselves. Let me see, cattle, sheep, fish, even insects. Then there’s all manner of plant life...”

“And don’t you?” I implored him, half dreading that he might answer, “Yes, and humans too!”

(Photo Credit Google Images - Butterfly Pict)

“No,” replied Rebros, “we only digest nectar, honey and milk.”

With this Rebros suddenly threw off  his cloak.

“I may be humanoid like you, Paul,” he declared, “but essentially I am what you would term a ‘Butterfly’!”

I gasped in astonishment as the other two threw off their robes too.

“And before you ask,” continued Rebros, “We on our planet produce honey within our bodies, with which we feed our caterpillars. It is over a million of your years since we allowed our young to eat plants. Ugh!”

“Where is your planet?”  I chirped, hoping to change the subject.   

“You wouldn’t understand if I told you,” replied Rebros.

“Try me.”

Trobonkon chose to reply: “Our world is about ten thousand light years from yours. We are roughly five thousand light years nearer to the centre of The Milky Way than you. Just head a few degrees to the left of your star “Vega” and you might land within a few hundred light years of us if you’re lucky. Now if you had our nav system....”

“But first you have to survive!” announced Rebros.

“Eh?” I gulped.

“I have to be perfectly honest with you, Paul,” Rebros went on, “we have reached a point of decision for your world.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, surely you can see that your planetary ecosystem is not acceptable.”

“Maybe not to you but...”

“No buts!” Rebros insisted, “It is unacceptable, period. You cannot help what you are, I’ll grant you, but that doesn’t mean you cannot change.”

“How?”

“We have two choices. The simplest would be to eradicate all animal life on your planet and start again.”

“And the other?”

“Try to keep them talking,” I thought.

Rebros: “Or, we might genetically engineer your plant life to produce much larger nectar-bearing flowers. Then we would turn every animal species into a honey-making butterfly.”

“What, does that mean you would turn me into a butterfly?”

“Yes,” jumped in Trobonkon, the ‘doctor’, “it would be perfectly harmless to you. Just a series of painless injections of DNA re-sequencing materials. No unwanted side effects. Wings optional...”

“Well,” I sighed, “to tell the truth, I’m not too keen on either alternative. But if you insist, out of the two, I’d rather become a butterfly than a corpse.”

“Thank you for your input, this is most valuable,” smiled Rebros, “I think we may conclude this interview now. Agreed number one?”

“Yes Sir,” affirmed Akreshi, “I believe we have obtained what we can from this subject.”

Trobonkon: “Agreed.”

Rebros: “Paul, again I thank you for your contribution.”

That was the last I remember of my “interview”. So, Mr. Prime Minister, sorry but I did my best. Hope you think it was enough. What do you think of my new wings?

(Photocredit - Shutterstock, as you can see)

Paul Butters

A Day in the life of a Facebook, Twitter, YouTube, Yahoo, Triond Nerd

(Written 14\10\2011 in Yorkshire)

A stream of consciousness. Live! Facebook, Twitter, YouTube, Yahoo, Triond and Reality.

I am literally sitting on my sister’s settee watching “The Chase” on UK ITV. Typing this out on Microsoft Word. My sister’s cat Jenny is curled up next to me, on my left. All is quiet on the Triond Forum now, so I may as well type this.

Let’s have a new paragraph. Before long I will check my emails. Will follow my usual routine. Pop onto Facebook. Check out The Forum again. Then Twitter. Yahoo. Maybe YouTube. Triond, Facebook, Twitter, YouTube, Yahoo,  Facebook... Let’s do it. 

Minimise.

No connection! Damn! Control Panel. Network and Sharing Centre. Diagnose and Repair. Automatic Fix thingy. Done. Facebook: last thing was a chat about apostrophes with my elder nephew and my friend Dave Wagstaff.

Just checked Yahoo News: UK Defence Secretary Liam Fox has indeed resigned today. It is on ITV News now.

I have been typing very slowly. Mum is sitting in her armchair, to my left. The cat is still asleep but more stretched out. To my right the sun seems to have set, leaving a blaze of orange over the Aire Valley. Harmoniously counter-pointed  by orange street lights. Most of the sky is clothed in thin grey clouds tonight. We have beautiful sunsets here. Where I live on the East Coast, such views are blocked from me by a row of maisonettes.

The sky-line is now a ruddy orange. Blood-red to burgundy. I pop my teacup back to the kitchen. Take a peek out the front door: blue sky! No sign of Jupiter yet. (In the East for weeks now). “Emmerdale” will be on ITV in five minutes.

Labrador Max stands two thirds through the French Windows to my right, causing a great cold draught. Ah, out he goes... Beagle bitch “Promise” hates the cold and scoots away down the corridor.

Twitter Check: lots of snippets by one or two poets. TBH I just can’t get into Twitter. Too bitty for me. Hate the “length” restriction on each Tweet.

Onto second page on “Word”. Insert Page Numbers. Emmerdale is on.  355 words total and counting (including title and sundries). Yes, Life Twitters on.

Keep thinking I’ll do something, then forget. Oh my. Let’s check The Forum again. Minimise. Triond Dashboard. Quick PM (Personal Message) reply. Forum. Just one comment there since I myself posted two hours ago. Quick joke with Brad O’Neill. That’s it.

Later I might listen to pop songs on YouTube. My next task is to copy and paste this piece of typing to Triond. I suppose that sunset is the highlight. Haworth is two miles to the South of here. Bronte Country indeed. Perhaps I might be inspired again later. Who knows?

Triond, Facebook, Twitter, YouTube, Yahoo, Triond...

Paul Butters

Tags:      stream of consciousness, Triond, Facebook, Twitter, YouTube, Yahoo

Humanity Report

(Earth from Apollo 17, via NASA)

This is the termly report on Humanity (Sub-Section: United Kingdom) , compiled by the Intergalactic Association. The story begins out in deep space...

Observer swivelled in “her” chair to greet Compliance with a smile. She waved a tentacle at another seat in front of the big screen, and Compliance duly sat down.

Compliance: “What have you got for me today Observer?”

Observer: “Well, Compliance, right now the scanner is locked on to that planet they call Earth: focussing on that nation of theirs, the United Kingdom.”

Compliance: “Oh yes, that’s one of my favourites. They can be very strange!”

Observer: “Indeed. Only a few days ago their leader, err, Prime Minister created a mass panic by advising them to store supplies of petrol fuel.”

Compliance: “How so?”

Observer: “Well he told them there might be a sort of mini rebellion called a ‘strike’ by the individuals who transport that fuel. So everyone went out and queued for hours to purchase some. Those who failed to buy fuel were stranded.”

Compliance: “So they are still following their ‘herd instincts’ then?”

Observer: “In this case, yes.”

Compliance: “Do they still work inside designated buildings for five or six days, then all go outside for a day or two, no matter what the weather?”

Observer: “Mainly, yes. But I do notice one improvement.”

Compliance: “What’s that?”

Observer: “Well, do you recall me telling you that many of them take cylinders of leafy vegetation, set them alight and inhale them?”

Compliance: “Are they still doing that? Surely they must know it’s carcinogenic by now!”

Observer: “They do. And the dangers of secondary inhalation. So they have banned – they call it ‘smoking’ – in public buildings. Smokers must satisfy themselves outside.”

Compliance: “But why do they still do it for The Source’s sake?”

Observer: “That vegetation contains a highly addictive substance called Nicotine. Actually they have got worse and worse with addictive substances in recent years.”

Compliance: “In what way?”

Observer: “It is commonplace for many of them to take Heroin, Cocaine and a whole host of hallucinogenic drugs.”

Compliance: “Oh Dear, will they ever learn?”

Observer: “That’s a good question.”

Compliance: “Eh?”

Observer: “It’s quite puzzling. These humans learn some things very well, but in other areas they are seriously retarded. They’ve made giant strides in technology over the past two hundred years. Yet socially they remain very primitive.”

Compliance: “Oh.”

Observer: “Look, these humans have discovered that they are killing their planet through deforestation and global warming. Around their world, thousands of children are dying of malnutrition and disease. So what did the UK government do recently? They put an extra tax on small shops who keep their pastry products – ‘pasties’ – warm before selling them!”

Compliance: “Do they still prepare potatoes the same way?”

Observer (winking with 7 of her eyes): “Oh yes, they peel them with their metal knives; they boil them; then they smash them all to bits!”

Compliance: “Ha ha ha. That will do for now. How long before this planet will be ready for Contact, in your estimation?”

Observer: “Oh, maybe two thousand of their years or so, if they survive.”

Compliance: “Okay, I’ll pop back to see how you are doing with them in a few Macrons.”

Paul Butters

Divine Intervention

On a planet hundreds of light years away, the Guff hordes are massing around Bellaira, the capital city of the Freer. They prepare to make their final strike, to rid their world of these vermin for good...

The Guff troops are massing just outside the fortress walls of Bellaira, capital city and last stronghold of the Freer nation. This horrible sight takes place on a planet hundreds of light years from Earth, yet would be so familiar to us. Mass genocide is top of the Guff agenda. Their weapon-technology is roughly the same as 1950s Earth, but no less daunting. Hundreds of tanks are taxi-ing ready for the final push. The Commander of the Guffs, Ingreck the Impaler, sits above the main gun of the largest tank. His baleful eyes survey the scene.

Suddenly the sky is filled with blinding lights! Without transition a massive squadron of “flying saucers” materialises overhead. All eyes turn skyward, all faces filled with astonishment. The saucers “float” just beneath the clouds. There is a strange humming sound. Orange rays from the saucers play upon the tanks and other vehicles. In seconds those tanks just melt away! Their occupants tumble to the ground, for the most part shaken but unhurt. All the troops suddenly find their rifles and swords all gone! The Guff bomber planes are removed by the same rays. Now, though, green rays are employed: they catch the Guff pilots and lower them to the ground.

Finally yet another ray is “deployed”: a blue ray that renders ALL the Guffs unconscious within about ten seconds. One of the saucers separates itself from the rest, and hovers down to where Ingreck himself lies “asleep”. Three space suited figures emerge from the saucer and stroll over to the tyrannical leader. One of them presses a button on his belt, and Ingreck awakes with a jolt. He sits bolt upright, and faces these “aliens”.

Ingreck: “What the fruck is going on?”

Alien: “Hello Ingreck. Yes, we know you well. We have monitored you for many years. I am Lovan, Chief Coordinator of this intervention.”

Ingreck: “What have you done to us?”

Lovan: “We have prevented you from committing an unacceptable atrocity. This could not be allowed.”

Ingreck: “Why? The Freer are vermin. We have to get rid of them!”

Lovan: “No you don’t. In the past we have allowed such things, but not anymore. Our ‘Prime Directive’ of non-interference has been repealed. Life is too sacred for us to permit mass genocide. You will have to learn to live in peace with these people. All sentient beings must be protected. You now have no military capability.

Ingreck: “Oh!”

Lovan: “You have suffered only minor injuries, which our medical staff are attending to now. When we are satisfied that all is well, we will awaken your colleagues, so that they may make their way home. You will then have to learn to live in peace, as We did on our planet centuries ago.”

Ingreck: “Okay. I have no option but to comply with your orders. We will go straight home, yes. But tell me, who in the name of the Source are you people?”

Lovan: “We are the U.N.E. - The United Nations of Earth.”

Paul Butters

Save Verduna

“United Nations Earth SpaceTimeship Leeds” is on patrol in deep space when a computer malfunction sends it to the other side of the universe, thousands of years into the future. It answers a distress call from a paradise-world named “Verduna”...

The United Nations Earth SpaceTimeship “Leeds” was a wonderful “fly”. It could take you all over the universe and anywhen in time. A totally reliable bird too. But not today.

Pilot Dave Smethurst: “Oh F....! What the H...?”

Co-Pilot Pete Smith: “What’s happening?”

Dave: “Computer malfunction. Told ya we needed a new chip!”

Pete: “Where the Hell are we?”

Dave: “Other side of the universe. ‘bout three thousand years into the future! Damn!”

Pete: “Have a distress beacon. 3^rd planet of K type star 20 light years from here. Should we take a look?”

Dave: “Better do. Can sort out the problem later.”

Minutes later they landed on a beautiful, blue planet bathed in orange sunlight. They were in the midst of a parkland cum tropical jungle. All variety of trees, bushes and grasses everywhere. Towering above them were sheer cliffs leading up to very high mountains. The peaks of these natural skyscrapers were capped by snow, garlanded with fluffy white clouds. Flocks of birds decorated the sky. Nearby, myriads of bright flowers and fruit made for a fantastic display.

Dave: “Been to some planets, Pete, but this beats ‘em all.”

Pete: “Yeah! Amazing. If we can’t get back home, then tough! Time to meet the natives.”

Soon they were standing before a tall, slender, orange- skinned humanoid. They had landed only yards from a glorious beach. Now they stood before the lapping ocean waves.

Alien: “Welcome to Planet Verduna.  I am called Veerm. Are you here in answer to our distress call?”  

Dave: “We are indeed. How can we help?”

Veerm: “I see only the one shuttle. Have you come alone?”

Dave: “Yes. We had a computer malfunction. Our homeworld lies at the other side of the universe.”

Pete: “About three thousand years in the past!”

Suddenly a group of Verdunans came dashing out of the undergrowth.

Verdunan: “The Sligs are here! They’ve come early!”

The Verdunans dashed along the beach in blind panic.

Dave: “What’s going on here?”

Veerm: “The SLIGS are here! They will rape and pillage us. Too late! Too late.”

Pete: “You are being invaded? Who are they?”

Veerm: “The deadliest aliens we’ve ever encountered! We’re doomed!”

As they spoke, squadrons of jets screeched overhead. And now a “tank” of sorts thrust its way through the bushes.

Dave: “Shields!”

Both men flicked switches on their belts, and each was surrounded by a shimmering haze. Now an extremely ugly, massive humanoid, who looked like a general, clambered down from the tank.

Slig: “Ah you don’t run! Good. I command you to tell your leadership that I Kattoth, of the Slig Empire, rulers of ten galaxies, hereby take our rightful possession of this planet!”

Veerm: “Veerm at your service, my lord. I will inform The Council forthwith.”

Kattoth (looking askance at the two men): “Who are you two? Holiday makers? Ha ha.”

Dave: “No. We answered a distress call from this planet. I now see why. Better introduce myself: I’m Captain David Smethurst from the UNEST ‘Leeds’, Planet Earth.”

Kattoth visibly blanched, in spite of his deep ruddy colouring.

Kattoth: “Could you please repeat that?”

Dave obliged, quietly.

Kattoth: “My humble apologies Sirs. We did not know you had a presence here! Please let me contact my troops!”

With that, Kattoth whisked out a radio: “Commander Kattoth to all warriors. Cease hostilities! Repeat, cease hostilities! Return to Mothership! Now!”

Kattoth’s radio: “Commander, what’s going on...?”

Kattoth: “Repeat, get your arses out of here now! There are Earth Empire Warriors here, from the deadly Leeds tribe! Check your history books when you get home. Earth is one of the most evil, powerful dynasties in the universe. They will annihilate us if we don’t go NOW! (He turned to Dave) Do please excuse us. We will retreat 100 light years from here, I promise.”

Abruptly Kattoth clambered back into his tank, which turned and beat a retreat.

Veerm: “Will you kill US then?”

Dave: “No! When we’ve made our repairs we must return home, and stay there. We can establish a sub-space radio link with you, just in case, if you wish.”

Veerm: “That would be advisable.”

Steve: “We are a LONG way from home. I’d like to think we could visit you for the odd vacation though. This is such a beautiful place.”

Veerm: “So long as that is ALL you do. We do NOT want invading again.”

Steve: “As we say, we have other fish to fry.”

Veerm: “On the behalf of Verduna, I thank you for your assistance today.”

Dave: “You are welcome. Even though it was no more than some sort of Spaceboat Diplomacy.”

So, they returned to their ship.

Paul Butters

Long Sleep

(Picture is of my good self)

In a household somewhere amongst the mountains...

The clouds were drifting across the skies. Some were skirting the mountains, giving an air of mystery. All was still. There in one of the valleys, a crowd of people surrounded one of the houses. Inside, in one of the bedchambers, Elizabeth and Anne were sitting at a bed. Bill was there too, along with young Nick. And one or two others. They were all attending to Paul, who was laying face upwards in bed.

Elizabeth: “Don’t fight it Paul. I prevailed, and so shall you.”

Paul: “I feel so tired.”

Bill: “Don’t fight it Paul. You will soon see us again.”

Paul: “Love you all. Must I go?”

Elizabeth: “Everyone must. But look at me!”

Paul: “So tired.”

And Paul drifted away, like the clouds above.

Presently everyone stepped outside and a priest made some reassuring words. After a while people went back to their pursuits. Bill ushered Nick away.

Nick: “What is Earth?”

Bill: “That’s difficult, Nick. They say it’s a place like here: with mountains, valleys, streams, sky, just as real.”

Nick: “Must everyone go there, in the long sleep?”

Bill: “’Fraid so, Nick. They say it’s an essential part of our maturing, our education. It’s for spiritual growth.”

Nick: “When will Paul awaken?”

Bill: “I’ve no idea. They reckon he has been reborn now, in a whole new baby body. Mind you some don’t get that far. But let’s not talk about that. It can be anything from one to a hundred or so years. Elizabeth woke up only last year. She only slept for just over sixty years.”

Nick: “But what if Phil and I enter the long sleep before Paul awakens?”

Bill: “Then you will both share with him his experiences on Earth.”

Nick: “But will he not awaken before us two?”

Bill: “All being well, yes. That would be most fitting.”

Nick: “I’m sure Joan is older than us though.”

Bill: “Yes, she is approaching the time. The long sleep will soon be upon her. And a few others like Martin, Jeanette... Everyone must go through it, just the once.”

“Nick: “I hear some go through it many times!”

Bill: “Yes I’ve heard that too. But it’s just a rumour. As far as I’m concerned you ‘die’ twice: once in the long sleep, and finally when you reawaken.”

Nick: “Why don’t the sleepers starve though?”

Bill: “They are in complete suspended animation lad. But that’s enough talk of sleep. It’s time to get those chickens fed!”

So off they went...

Out of the blue a young man about the same age as Nick approached them.

Young man: “Hello I’m Michael. I just heard about Paul going to sleep. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Bill: “Thankyou Michael. I think we have everything covered.”

Michael: “Have you made any arrangements to watch Paul’s progress in his life on Earth?”

Bill: “Yes thanks. Though Nick is too young for that sort of thing.”

Michael: “Too young? Well I know he’s only about a year younger than me. I’ve been to many Viewings. Anyroad, are you Bill?”

Bill: “Yes, why?”

Michael: “Well, they say Paul’s father on Earth is your grandson Pete, and his mother is Louisa...”

Bill: “Thanks lad, but I’d rather see for myself.”

Michael: “Well, give it another twenty years or so and Nick and I will enter the long sleep ourselves. I’ve got loads of projects in mind. But hey, I’m delaying you. Better go and have a look at Paul there.”

Nick: “In his sleep?”

Michael: “Oh yes. But don’t forget, it is only for so long.”

With that Michael shot away, up the hill.

Paul Butters

Dedicated to MPA (Most Popular Article), Triond writer who re-awakened in 2011 after just thirty years.