This is my third NaNoWriMo entry. I really just wanted to write about being the alien but...
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April 5th, 2026
I had the news delivered to me by the technicians, of all people. A meteor was spotted far out in space, but directed at our very own Earth, and scientists predicted that it would hit in approximately a month. They were evacuating all of us under the age of fifty onto college-campus-sized airships to fly to the nearest galaxy that had livable planets that they had been studying for twenty or so years – Alpha Centauri.
The technicians were surprised I hadn't heard. Hadn't it been all over the news? I supposed so, but I wouldn't have been the one to receive it. I was probably the last person on Earth who stubbornly stuck to the anti-technological ways of the last century. While everyone else was sending instant messages through their headsets, chattering about the latest installment in the evacuations, I was sitting at home, in my dark study, writing my newest novel on old scrolls of lined paper.
The technicians checked through some lists and declared me to be evacuated onto Airship 552, which departed from Los Angeles on April 18th. I was directed to start making the journey there now before planes were brought down from the skies by the unbending prowess of the meteor.
After they left, I went onto one of my old computers to see if I could bring up the news. No luck. One of the cords in the wall fizzled out and sent sparks sprinkling onto the carpet, and while I was occupied with that, I didn't stop to see if there was a way to fix it. I guessed I was going to be the one person without knowledge of the coming disaster.