It Isn't Green, It's Purple
Hazera Forth
Dorsal Winner
I'd never kissed a green girl before. There I was, with her pressed up against the chip-shop window. She'd just landed, she said. And could she have a snog? So, I asked which planet she came from and she made this high-pitched noise at me. I asked if everyone had green skin where she came from. She said it isn't green, it's purple. At least, she thought it could be purple. The light frequency was different where she came from, the wavelengths made her see differently.

I showed her a lit match, and she said the flame was purple. It seemed to me that everything looked purple to her.

I asked her why she came to Earth. She was exploring, she said. She wanted to see what other male specimens were like around the universe. I asked her how she got here. She said she wasn't sure. It might have been a butterfly. I told her that butterflies can't breathe in interstellar space nor can they fly at warp speed. That depends on how far it has to travel, she said. So, I asked her if she really was an alien and she wondered what kind of an untrusting question that was. And don't I have a more open mind and do I always have to be right. So, I stared at her for a while because I couldn't really figure it out.

I said I couldn't walk around in public with her because people would think she was - well, an alien. She said that was hurtful and that I wasn't willing to change the way society thinks. I told her we'd only just met and it wasn't as if we would be getting married and then she started getting all high-pitched again.

I offered to give her a lift back to where her space-butterfly was but she said she couldn't remember where it was. She asked if I'd go back with her and I said no, because, well, if everyone was green, I might feel sick. Then I got told that I wasn't giving 'us' a chance.

The space-butterfly was hidden under some foliage in the New Forest and it was no different to what looked like a fighter plane. A MIG or something, like in Top Gun. I told her it wasn't a butterfly. She said she couldn't figure out what the word was for the shape of it, so she just picked something that had wings.

She put on her helmet. Then she took it off again. She puckered her lips. I backed away a little bit. I think that was the final nail. I don't think we'll be seeing each other again.



First published: February, 2006
comments to the writer: Knob'sWriter@iceflow.com