Little Green Man

January 20, 2009
I awoke to a tapping against my window. It couldn't be a boy throwing rocks against my window--the taps were coming too close together--unless he was using a machine gun.

I got up and opened my window. I saw a little green man. How could I see him? It was night. It was dark. I went to my other window and looked out -- I saw a normal night. I went back to the little green man's window. The night around him was glowing. A nice orange haze. I opened the window and floated down to him.

The little green man took my hand. Only he wasn't little anymore. As I floated down he got bigger until he was normal-man sized. He was a normal, definitely not little, man. He was just green.

We walked together, hand in hand, down the glowing path around the man -- and I guess around me, too. This road might have been yellow and made of brick, or it might not have, because I didn't really notice. I was walking with a green man.

I heard a bird whistle, but it wasn't a normal bird whistle, it was a look-at-that-hot-girl bird whistle. The bird was whistling at me. I looked down, to see what could be so whistle-worthy about my pajamas, when I saw the shoes. They were hot. And high. Hot high heels. I would say that if I were walking with a human man they would be red hot high heels, but since the man was green they must have been a different color. I looked at the green man's skin, trying to figure out if you could transpose colors like you did music and if so how many sharps red would have, when I noticed his eyes.

They were nice eyes. Not nice eyes for a not so little green man, but just generally nice eyes. His eyes didn't reveal any deep secrets or gateways to his soul (do green men have souls?) but they were nice just the same. While I was looking at his eyes, his eyes started looking at my eyes.

He said: "I like your shoes." It was a drag queen voice. It worked for the green man.

I said: "I like your eyes."

"What's your sign?" he asked.


"What does that mean?" he asked.

"I don't know." There was a pause. I didn't mind. I got to look into the green man's eyes a little bit longer. He got to look into mine, too.

"What's your sign?" I asked.

"Deer xing." Only he didn't say "Dear crossing" or "Dear ex-ing" but he said it like it's spelled: "deer zing." "I know that isn't how most people say it, but it's more fun to say zing than 'crossing' or 'ex-ing'."

"I quite agree." I said. "I know the plural of moose is moose, but meeses is much...funner to say."

I giggled. He snorted. We walked.

We came to a fork in the road. The green man picked it up. He cleaned it off and gave it to me. I smelled green man cleaner on it, smiled, and put it in my pocket. He took my hand again, and we walked.

We came to a zebra by the side of the road. I would tell you about transposing black and white--but it doesn't matter. It wasn't a zebra. It was a bag.

I opened the bag. Inside I saw a lovely, buxom, purple queen whose figure made it look like she was permanently in a corset--but obviously it didn't restrict her breathing because she was engaging in some pretty strenuous cardiovascular activity. I closed the former-zebra-now-bag to give her some privacy. When I opened it again, the queen was gone. In her place was a mirror.

I took the mirror out of the bag and in it I saw the same lovely, buxom purple queen as before--only now she was me. I put the mirror back in the bag.

I looked at my companion, but he was no longer a green man. He was just a man. A person.

I took the fork out of my pocket and I ate him.

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