The alien machine towered over all six lanes of 3rd Avenue. It moved victoriously, as if the city had already succumbed. Traffic came to a standstill. Pedestrians ran screaming for cover.
An alien emerged from the top. Sixteen eye stalks swirled. An armored tentacle pointed imperiously, “YOU!”
Marion Watters sighed. Standing in her threadbare Georgetown sweats, popcorn and mini-quiches in hand, Marion never expected to represent all of Humanity. She sighed.
Now I’ll never finish binge-watching Game of Thrones.
The alien boomed, “Take me to your…”
I DON’T KNOW my leaders!
“…Nearest Starbucks. My wife desires a Chai Latte.”
Written for the Friday Fictioneers. Look here for this week’s prompt and links to the week’s many other stories: https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2016/03/30/1-april-2016/