Random stories

Aliens don’t have noses. It’s a simple fact of a complicated life. A thousand years among the stars and not a single encountered species has had one. Feet, eyes, tongues, genitals — oh, other species have those. Some have them in abundance, but until now, not a nose. Everybody knows Humans have a nose, because it’s what makes us unique. We are an oddity across the universe, the weird squishy things from Earth with that thing in the middle of our faces.

The alien across from me has a nose. I cannot stop staring at it. It also has my entire crew hostage, and a weapon pointed at my groin.

“We are the Vanguard,” the alien says. “And we demand your cargo, and the coordinates to your home system.”

It looks like a dog. Which is scarier than one might think, being bipedal, with such a long snout and sharp teeth. I didn’t look to spot a tail, but I do wonder, deeply wonder, if the alien has one. Could it be wagging away right now?

Do dog-aliens dream of intergalactic bones?

“Respond!” the dog-alien demands. My ears ring before I feel the heat, and the chair I sit upon tilts me to the ground, suddenly missing a leg.

Human protocol is to never surrender coordinates to terrorists. They named the protocol after somebody important, I’m sure. Here, on the ships, we call it the “Checkmate, Assholes”. I smack into the floor and use the distraction to key the protocols into the device on my wrist.

Back home, man’s best friend. Out here, in the silent, vantablack womb of eternity? Apparently not.

I force myself to a stand. The weapon tracks my movement. The dog-alien doesn’t know it yet, but the entire ship is on course to self-destruct. It’ll be a painless death for everybody. Instantaneous. One minute to the end.

It’s at times like these those intrusive thoughts in your head start to feel more like courage and less like insanity.

Aliens don’t have noses.

I leap across the table. The laser tears through my stomach in seconds. Must have missed my spine, because my arm still functions. My finger still lifts, still plants itself on that sopping wet snout. It feels leathery. I rub the entire damn thing. Checkmate, Assholes.

“Who's a good boy?” I say. “Who’s a—”

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Submitted by Marbate on Mon, May 30, 2022 to /r/WritingPrompts/

The prompt

The alien ambassador talks in length about treaties, alliances, and other such terms. But the only thing you can focus on is the Alien's cute snout, perfect for booping. You want to boop it. You need to boop it.