The pounding continued. “Please, I’m desperate!”
Jolette opened the door and the man fell inside, whimpering as he hit the floor. She gasped when she saw his face; even beyond the bruises, the man’s skin was a pale bluish-green, his eyes orange and oddly angular.
“You’re an alien!” she gasped.
The alien dragged himself further inside. “Shut the door, quickly,” he pleaded. “I’m being chased by six thugs, four lynch mobs, three government agencies, seven doctors, and sixteen…”
“An alien?” Jolette purred. “That’s fascinating. You look so human…” She stroked his cheek.
He looked up at her. “Seventeen,” he sighed.
Standard Irish Poem No.1
10 hours ago