I’M NOT IN MY BED, this isn’t home. It doesn’t sound right, there’s too much sound and too much light. There are beeps and pulses and the strange guttural muttering of people. I go to roll over to see and to shout, ‘Where the hell am I? Who are you?’ but I can’t move and I can’t make a sound. I open my eyes half-fascinated, half-afraid and fully frozen.
My eyes and head begin to clear and I see that I’m in a large hangar, surrounded by green beings. They have bald spherical heads, no ears and glistening black eyes. They’re all peering at me in what I assume is curiosity, studying every inch of my body. Above my head I notice a shaft of smoky white light which spills over the table in a triangular shape, making everything seem hazy. I can’t seem to speak or move my limbs, so I just stare into the brightness.
They’re moving and talking to one another in their throat-singing tongue and I should be terrified but I’m not, I’m oddly still and calm. The one closest to me, the one who organises the others and they seem to defer to, speaks, ‘We will not harm you, but we need to subject you to some experimentation. We have chosen you as we need to study the finest of your species.’ Its spoken English is reminiscent of what I’d characterise as a deep throaty Scouse accent. Although I feel vulnerable and scared, I’m strangely comforted by this statement of intent.
In its claw-like hand it holds a probe tool. I sense it going into my chest and it makes strange beeps and electronic sounds. Despite my lack of animation, I can feel my heart pounding regularly and fast, holding down a rhythm to the background beats and a light show of symbols and numbers appear hanging in the smoky triangular light above the table. The extra-terrestrials seem pleased with this information and nod their heads in what I take to be approval.
One of them reaches out and touches my forehead and the next thing I remember is waking up in my bed.
Biopsy, 2022
