15 for 15 Contest --- Closed

Alan swept past frat boys and math nerds. His prey was over by the forsythias: a darkly exotic woman, almond-eyed and ebony-haired. Her hands waved, her purple drink threatening to spill from its plastic cup, as she spoke to a mousy woman in a green skirt.

Her eyes shot toward him as he sidestepped a pair of giggling, identically-dressed sorority girls, and her mouth tightened. The shorter girl turned her pointed nose in his direction, her lip curling. “Hey!” Alan called, his beer spilling onto his hand as it bumped into a football player. “I know you! You’re in my econ class!”

His target – who, Alan guessed, was from India (though she was actually from Pakistan, so his assumption was destined to be Strike 2 in Alan’s first and only inning with her), nodded and opened her mouth to say something – then stopped.

In fact, everything stopped. The movement of the crowd, the noise, the beer dripping from Alan’s hand, the football player’s fist mere inches from Alan’s kidney – all stopped.

His world filled with light, bright, eye-piercing light that washed out the motionless faces of the partygoers, and a sound; a horrible, warbling sound that started soft and low-pitched and shot up in scale and intensity. The light made him squint. The sound made him drop his beer, press his hands to his ears and drop to his knees. He cast his gaze around: bright light to his left, bright light to his right, bright light above – and all of it coming from saucers in the sky.

He didn’t even have time to scream before the tractor beam had him; it latched onto his feet and swept them up into the sky, followed quickly by his legs, his torso, his arms and yes, even his head.

“Greetings, Earthling.” The speaker was grey-skinned, with oversized oval eyes that seemed to be all pupil.

“Meep.”

“We are visitors from Omicron Ceti Four. I am [unintelligible], and this is my companion, [unintelligible also]. We seek new subjects for our experiments.”

“They wear out so fast,” [unintelligible also] said, a hint of wistfulness in his, her or its voice.

“No!” whimpered Alan. “No, please don’t anal probe me.”

The musical sound might have been laughter. “We have no desire to probe your nether regions,” said [unintelligible].

“Only your brain,” said [unintelligible also].

The light came for Alan’s eyes, and it seemed to him that he would never stop screaming.

Alan woke to the sound of laughter. Faces gathered above him, in an oval reminiscent of the alien’s eye. The football player supported the exotic, black-haired girl, who would otherwise have collapsed with laughter. Alan moaned and lifted his head.

“Oh god,” he groaned, his head falling back onto the patio with a dull thunk. “Did they have to take my clothes?”