Page 4

I shake my head, banishing the dark thoughts that often haunt me.

This is a time of celebration, not worrying about my prick of a father.

Determined, I make my way to my favorite cafe, easily passing the busy crowds, knowing this place like the back of my hand, and aided by the fact I’m tall at six feet, peering over the heads of the noisy mass.

Already, the chimes of the likes on my post ring out, each one like sweet music to my ears. It’s nice to know people out there appreciate me, even if my so-called family doesn’t.

I take a seat inside the Distro Bistro, finding my favorite spot snuggled into the corner away from the busy streets.

The cafe is sophisticated, a seamless blend of contemporary chic and classic elegance.

Rich, dark wood floors and high ceilings create a spacious, airy feel, while warm, ambient lighting casts a soft glow throughout the space.

But it’s the high prices that keep the place quiet that I enjoy the most. A welcome breather from the bustling high streets of the city.

I sip on my mocha and take a small nibble of my cream-filled cinnamon swirl, squealing with glee as I notice the likes on my post already reaching over a thousand, with many comments of encouragement and heart emojis.

Although my temper flares seeing a few haters calling me “ugly” and “fat,” it makes my blood boil.

Why don’t they just fuck off to hate on someone else?

I prepare heated replies until I stop myself with an effort, breathing deep. No, I won’t let them ruin my day. They don’t deserve it.

Scrolling through Prada’s new season catalog online, I spot a beautiful double-breasted twill trench coat. The belt would cinch my waist and accentuate my ample bosoms and hips perfectly. Plus, the cord texture matches my Birkin handbag so well—it must be fate!

I grimace seeing the four-thousand-dollar price tag, knowing I’m overdrawn and my four credit cards are maxed out.

Fuck it, I deserve this!

With a few taps on the screen, it’s mine. I clap my hands in excitement, a rush of joy washing over me as I take another bite of my sweet treat.

My ears prick up overhearing a conversation between two middle-age women at a nearby table. They wear fashionable clothes like me; however, their coordination and color arrangements are terrible, thrown together like a Jackson Pollock.

Maybe I should offer fashion advice?

“Did you see the news? They’re saying a UFO has been sighted in Scotland and Japan!” the woman in the green jacket and blue skirt exclaims.

“That sounds ridiculous, probably China sending out spy balloons again,” the other woman replies dismissively.

“No, they’re posting videos online. They’re wild, see for yourself,” Green jacket insists.

Curiosity compels me to check my smartphone, hoping for some social media fodder.

The news feeds are buzzing with frantic headlines and blurry videos of a gray object darting through the skies like a blinking light.

Live streams are awash with hysterical speculation, stating that the UFO was last seen heading from Europe over the Atlantic.

This is wild!

A bold headline catches my attention: “Hostile Alien Stalks Scottish Highlands!” My pulse quickens as I watch shaky camera footage, apparently from a cop’s body cam.

With guns raised, they approach a quaint house, their heavy accents carrying palpable nerves and confusion.

Suddenly, the front door bursts open and a massive.

.. figure stoops and squeezes through. I gasp as it straightens to reveal it’s half as tall and wide as the house.

“Hostile spotted. Open fire!” The screen is bathed in muzzle flashes, the snap and bang of gunfire ringing out. The giant humanoid, clad in ash-colored armor flecked with blood-red sparkles, absorbs the bullets, which spark yellow upon impact, seeming to have no effect.

“What the hell is it?” a terrified cop questions, echoing my thoughts. The titan stands unfazed, shocking red wisps of smoke leaking from its menacing mask.

Is it going to explode?

“ Lag’gar !” A harsh, deep voice like thunder startles me, radiating disdain.

The titanic alien raises his right arm, unleashing sizzling blue blasts into the crowd of cops.

Screams of terror and agony fill the air as the camera shakes violently, capturing frantic breaths and running before everything fades to black, leaving the commentators and me in stunned silence.

This can’t be real! This must be AI-generated or something.

I’ve seen crazy, realistic stuff like this before.

But why are all the news stations reporting it?

My mind whirls, trying to process if this is real.

If it is, what does it mean for me? I’m so distracted that I almost miss a message from my recruitment agency.

With impatient anticipation, I open the message, expecting the good news.

Hi Alexandra Turner, thank you for meeting with us. After careful consideration, we’ve decided to move forward with another candidate who closely—

I stop reading, shoving the cell away in disgust. My teeth clench, and my chest heaves with rapid breaths.

I can’t believe this! It must’ve been that bitch Cathy with the lemon face.

She’s done this to me, that jealous, soured, dried-up bore.

She couldn’t stand having someone more intelligent, younger, and beautiful showing her up for the useless douchebag she is.

My fist shakes with seething anger until a sense of dread washes over me.

I have nothing... I’m broke, jobless, and cut off from Mother.

What the hell am I going to do? Suddenly, I feel sick, clutching my stomach as my vision narrows.

The walls of the calm cafe seem to close in.

I’m going to be homeless... cast into the streets like a common hobo, s urrounded by drug addicts, alcoholics, and other smelly people.

This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening.