Reality Check

Jasper was finding it hard to tell illusion from reality.

Some things were easier than others. The dog definitely didn’t have twenty-two tails, and the sofa didn’t grow wings and flap around the room every evening. And of course, the microwave didn’t have a mouth, so how could it talk to him?

Over time, he’d learnt to tap into the only sober molecule left in his brain and force a drop of common sense into the rest of him. When the dog had twenty-two tails, he’d lie down for a moment. At five pm on Thursday evenings, he’d take a small break from the drink. And when the microwave talked, he’d unplug it and leave it outside for an hour or so. Work smart, not hard, was the saying, yeah?

But he’d never seen this before.

Jasper rubbed his eyes with his knuckles and blinked manically to clear what could only be the drunken haze, but when he opened his eyes…Nope. Still there.

He stumbled to the window and pressed his face right up against the cool glass, his nose smooshed into it and his eyes darting back and forth. Outside, marching along the street, was an army of small green…things.

They were in perfect sync and walked with intent. They wore stethoscopes around their little green necks and carried little pistols in their little green hands. Jasper reached for the bottle he kept on the windowsill and took a long swig. Maybe if he drank more, they’d go away.

Just as he reached the last drops of his bottle, one of the things caught sight of him. It did a double take and noticed him gawking through the window. Jasper paused his swallowing and fixed his eyes on the thing as it tapped its friend on the shoulder, babbled something, pointed at the window, and then fell out of line to make its way towards him.

Jasper wasn’t sure what else to do in a situation like this. He wasn’t even entirely sure what this situation was. So, he grabbed another bottle and expertly twisted the cap off, just as the thing stopped on the other side of the window and stared up at him with its big, green eye. It blinked. Jasper blinked back. It knocked on the window, and Jasper reluctantly cracked it open the slightest bit. Then, it grinned, and Jasper grimaced.

“Sorry for the disturbance, Sir,” it spoke in a nasally kind of voice, like it had a cold.

The thing waved its three-fingered hand and pulled a long stick from the top of what was actually not a pistol. “Not to worry about us, we’re only here for the routine millennial planet-check and we’ll be gone in a blip! Now, if you’ll just hold still. You may feel a little tickle.” 

Before Jasper could think of a single response, the thing extended the not-pistol’s stick to the window, through the window, to his forehead, through his forehead. Jasper went cross-eyed. The stick must have reached his brain, but he couldn’t feel it.

The thing stared down at the not-pistol, which started to make electronic noises. The thing ummed and ahhed. It stroked its knobbly chin. “Oh dear. Extraordinarily worse than we theorised,” it said quietly.

“Huh?” Jasper’s hand fumbled for another bottle, the rest of him remaining still so the stick didn’t come out the other side of his head.

“Oh!” The thing laughed—at least, Jasper thought it was a laugh. Could have been a sneeze—and withdrew the not-pistol’s stick. “Not to worry,” it said again, sounding worried. “Cerebral levels aren’t as balanced as we’d like, but there are still seven billion six hundred seventy million seven hundred twenty-six thousand one hundred ninety-four human beings to scan. With any luck, Earth won’t need to be zapped out of existence for another few years. Jupiter will probably go first. Have a happy life!” 

Jasper gaped as it headed back to find a gap in the line. Then, he reached up to tentatively prod around his forehead. The usual roughness was there, a bit of sweat, but no obvious hole.

Jasper stepped back, drew the curtains, counted to thirty, then leant forward to peek between the curtains once more. The green things were gone.

Just to be sure, he picked up the bottle and peered in the glass’s reflection. Nope. No hole in his head. 

Jasper laughed and took a long—deserved, thanks very much—drink. He was fine. Everything was fine.

“Well, that was fucking weird,” said the microwave.