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Don't Judge a Blank...Slade

Short Story

By Rachal FlewellenPublished 3 years ago 6 min read
1
Don't Judge a Blank...Slade
Photo by Mariah Solomon on Unsplash

He's just being a typical teenage boy, they said. Don't worry, he'll grow out of it. It's just a phase, they said.

Just a phase? Just a phase! Grow out of it? Grow out of what? There was nothing more aggravating than having all these random people judging him. And for what? His clothes?! Honestly. What's the big deal? So, he wears all black from head to toe. So, he has shaggy void black hair with the bangs brushed carelessly to the side. So, he's taken a liking to the black eyeliner all the girls are wearing, and the studded belts of rock stars, and the combat boots of the military. So what?

That's not the worst of it though. Oh no. Apparently his appearance is justification for other judgements being passed, namely about his mental state and personal feelings. How many times a day has he been asked if he's feeling okay? Or been given a range of looks from pity to suspicion, as if he's either going to hurt himself or someone else? How many times a day is he asked to raise his sleeves so they can see his wrists? Too many! And what's so damn fascinating about his wrists. They're just like everyone else's, he made sure of that.

This is Slade and here's his life in a nutshell: the adults are stressed out by him, his high school peers have varying opinions of him (the boys think he's a "freak", the girls think he's a "hottie" – whatever that means), and the general public has no idea what to make of him outside the typical stereotype. Oh yeah, he's learned a lot about stereotypes recently.

The whole situation has made him angry, sad, frustrated... and in the end, after endless days of such asinine behavior, it all culminated into one feeling: sulkiness. He was so tired of the assumptions, the accusations, the wayward looks and pointless questions. He stopped trying to interact with people, he stopped smiling, stopped engaging in normal life at all. Unfortunately, his sulky behavior just stressed out the adults more, made his male peers think he was even more of a "weirdo", and made his female peers even more attracted to him (apparently, now he was hot and mysterious, which just confused him because he was sure his temperature was no more than 98.6 degrees).

He wouldn't even be here if it weren't for the very important event about to happen in just three days. Although, at this point, he wouldn't even be here if they weren't making him be here. That fact alone made him even more sulky. He had really wanted to help, you know. He felt so special when they had chosen him for the job, thought it would be a great way to change the world's opinion. But then, it all went so sideways and now... now he just wanted to go home and hole up in his room, ignoring everyone and everything.

The days passed, each one worse than the last, and he grew more and more sulky. His face had a permanent scowl, his voice (when he would actually speak, which was rare) was subdued and monotone, his behavior uninterested and unconcerned. By the time the fateful day arrived, his very reason for being there, he no longer cared. Let the world burn, it's not his problem.

Despite his lack of interest in doing his job, his feet automatically took him to the Point of Intrusion at the appointed time. It was a very public place (right in front of his high school) during a very public time (lunch). The grounds were crawling with students laughing, chatting, eating, and screwing around.

He stood still as a statue, eyes scanning aimlessly over the crowd, feeling absolutely nothing for these people who judged him so unfairly. They were all about to die, and he didn't care. He was the only one who could save them, but he just didn't care. He stood, and he sulked, and he waited.

Moments later, a swirling vortex of color opened behind him. Those nearest began gawking and pointing, the response spreading through the crowd like a ripple from pebble thrown in a pond. He blinked slowly, still completely uninterested. Then the screaming began, and the running.

He sighed. Slowly turning on his heels, he faced the portal and came face to face with the ugliest, most terrifying creature the world had ever seen carrying a large, sharp, and hideous looking knife. Behind it were more of the creatures, all pressing their way through the portal into the human world. The Spelnak army had arrived. The alien invasion had begun.

As he looked into the eyes of the lead Spelnak, something snapped inside him. All of a sudden, all his sulkiness drained away. He was renewed with remembrance of his purpose, his whole reason for being, and why he had come to Earth in the first place. To kick some evil alien ass.

With a flick of his hands, two wicked looking daggers appeared. The Spelnak leader paused, confused by this small man-child come to face them. Then Slade attacked, launching himself at the Spelnak and severing its arm from its body. The Spelnak howled in pain and rage and threw himself at his attacker. The following army, seeing the fight was on, pressed through the portal more quickly and joined the fray.

Slade moved with inhuman speed through his enemies, slicing here, stabbing there, never slowing, never hesitating. He dispatched each Spelnak with efficient ease, his smile growing wider with each swipe of his daggers, his body feeling more energized then it had in weeks.

In minutes, it was over. He stood before the swirling portal barely breathing hard, his daggers dripping with sticky blue blood, the ground around him covered with the bodies of dead Spelnaks. He flicked his wrists and his daggers disappeared. From his pocket, he pulled out his communicator, dusty from misuse during his sulking, and called home. The job was done. It was time to clean up the mess and get the hell out of here.

A crowd slowly began to gather, keeping their distance from the carnage, but crowding close enough to gawk at the goth boy and the dead aliens. As they gawked, more aliens came through the portal, these ones looking more like humans but clearly not from Earth. They began to clean up the mess of dead Spelnaks with tools far beyond the technological understanding of Earth. When every last drop of blue Spelnak blood was scrubbed from the concrete, they casually packed up their gear and stepped back through the portal.

Slade glance at the crowd one last time. Elevating his voice so all could hear, he said "Thank you for your time. You have a lovely planet. I hope to never see any of you again." With a small wave, he turned his back on those horrid, judgmental humans and stepped through the portal. The last thing they ever saw him do was snap his fingers. Then, the portal closed with a concussive bang and an explosion of star dust.

Sci Fi
1

About the Creator

Rachal Flewellen

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