Stolen

I reckon it’s been about thirteen “days.” I’m not even sure what to call this anymore, since wherever I am doesn’t follow a 24-hour cycle, but a 26-hour one.

After a few days, I thought I’d use my knife to scratch the wall in my cell to keep track.

That’s when I discovered that these walls, whatever they’re made of, can’t be scratched by anything I have. I’ve never seen this material before, but it looks man-made.

I’m on an alien ship, and that’s all I know. I’m pretty sure they didn’t kidnap me to be a sex slave.

No, I see the way they look at me. I’m an animal to them, just like the other animals around me. Some are from Earth, others are definitely not.

I figure, given the potential for anything to happen, I’m okay being seen as an animal amongst these other animals.

I scoff, starting to bite my fingernail before stopping myself. My hands are too dirty, and I shouldn’t. I don’t even look that different from some of the aliens I’ve seen!

Now it makes sense why they ignored my fits of anger and the screaming when I first woke up. My anger won’t keep me alive. My anger won’t save me, and neither will my fear.

Those are primitive emotions, and I’m in a situation where I need to stay calm and be smart.

My hair is caked in mud from crawling around on my stomach in the jungles of Brazil, but I can’t look that primitive...can I?

I tried to wash as much of the dirt off as I could, but I only get two bowls of water a day, and I can’t waste water.

At least I don’t have to share a cell with any of the real animals. I run my dirty hands through my matted hair. I probably sound just like the aliens who abducted me when I think like that.

One upside of them seeing me as an animal is that they didn’t realize I had my computer in my bag when they took me. This is good. This could save me, because I have my linguistics software on here.

In the beginning, when I would scream at them and throw things against my cell, and they would yell back, I assumed they were telling me to be quiet or shut up.

This is good, because my interpretation software can incorporate that into this language as well.

I’ve concluded that they must speak some type of standard or universal language.

There are several alien species that I’ve seen, and they all have different accents when they talk amongst themselves. I might not be able to understand them yet, but I can hear the differences in how they speak.

I flinch as the chimps across from me scream just as I did in the beginning, and if the aliens don’t understand me, how is that any different than me not understanding the chimps?

Damn whatever space gods are listening. I’m miserable, dirty, and I’m hungry. I only get fed twice a day, and after two days of starving myself, I had to give in and choke it down.

I can’t look at it, but I know it’s a grayish color, and in the shape of a block. I plug my nose, chew with water, and get it down.

Last night I had a breakthrough, which is my only good news. I found electronics—some are wires, but some look like lasers in areas where I would expect other wires.

Not sure if that’s how information is passed? I was able to connect my computer to the ship after days and days of trying different ways.

I don’t expect to do anything useful like take over the ship and fly back home, because this isn’t a damn movie, and I have no idea what to do. I couldn’t even send out a distress signal.

What would it say? “Please come find me, US government, I’m in another solar system…” Actually, I’d have better luck with Elon Musk being able to help...

I really just want my interpretation software to analyze anything it can find. Even if it’s something like an alien version of an encyclopedia.

I want to know what they’re saying, even if they won’t listen to me.

I sit on the small pallet in the corner that I managed to make from rags that were in here. I cradle my neck in my hands as my elbows rest on my knees, trying so hard not to feel hopeless.

Finally, the lights dim, signaling the start of the ship’s night cycle. This is when I do most of my work, trying to figure out how to communicate with anyone.

But then again, I don’t know if they’ll listen, or if it will matter. I have about thirty words translated so far, but that’s not enough, and I’m hoping for more tonight.

Even a damn parrot has more than thirty words at their disposal. I live for puzzling out new words, which is one of the reasons I’m so good at my job.

You don’t always have the proverbial Rosetta Stone, but I’m doing the best I can. My computer has been connected all day, hidden of course, so hopefully I’ll see what I can get tonight.

Sitting with my back to the wall so I can see outside, I start to take out my computer. But I don’t want anyone to see it.

None of the aliens have been abusive, but they aren’t exactly friendly either.

I’m not sure if this is a spaceship version of a pirate ship, or if this represents all aliens who just take whatever they want. No wonder our government has tried to hide their existence. Fucking pricks.

I always knew aliens existed, and I love a good alien debate.

But this version of aliens is killing my romanticized version of an intelligent species coming to Earth, communicating, and sharing information. I don’t like this version of reality that I’m in at all.

I look down at my computer, and my heart races as my breathing quickens. I see I have 143 words!

I can work with this. I feel a new sense of determination, and I’m about to study them when I hear yelling coming down the hall and what sounds like fighting.

I quickly stash everything away and crouch in the corner. Usually at night, it’s only the sound of the other animals.

Sometimes, I lose sleep over the strange sounds these non-Earth creatures make. Is that xenophobic? I don’t know, but they creep me out more than Earth animals do.

Suddenly, the shuffling and yelling halt right in front of my cell. I look up in horror as two aliens shove a third one into my cell.

Everyone’s yelling, and the newcomer seems to be laughing at the two guards who are pushing him in, their claw-like fingers pointing at him.

Great. Just what I need. A potentially violent alien sharing my cell.

I hope my theory about not being a sex slave holds up because this “guy” is huge. And I hate being wrong. Especially about something as serious as sex slavery.

I practically have my own church, a congregation of one, dedicated to my infallibility. This is not the time to discover my whole belief system is a sham. Talk about a crisis of faith.

He’s standing with his back to me. All I can see is his white hair. Most of the aliens who have hair keep it long. But his is shorter.

Despite the many differences I’ve noticed among the aliens—some have feathers, tails, exotic skin, and some have plain skin—

I’ve also noticed many small similarities to humans in almost all the aliens. Though I haven’t seen this type before.

He’s got his hands in his hair, clearly frustrated. He turns, and I catch a glimpse of his side. He has horns! They’re dark, about two inches long. I can’t help but gawk at them as I take in the rest of him.

His skin is a light blue color. I wonder if his planet has a star that doesn’t emit much UV radiation?

I know how to fight a bit, but he’s huge, and I’m weak after so many days in here with not enough food, and my muscles not being used the way they should be.

He finally turns to look at me. His eyes look almost purple, but it’s hard to tell in this light. And I can see tracks of something under his skin. Metal? Wires? Is this an alien cyborg?

I’m not sure how I feel about this—they weren’t that friendly in Star Trek—but I can see things under his skin, and that’s all I can think of. Then I look back at his face, and he seems disgusted by me.

I’m definitely an animal to them all. I take a deep breath and sit down, my disappointment overtaking my curiosity. He looks like he’s trying to stay far away from me too.

I guess he doesn’t want to spook the animal, right? Disgusted, I look away. I just want to be seen as a person, even when I know I should be thankful that none of them do.

After an hour of listening to him grumble and attack his hair and yes, his horns too, all while ignoring me, I can’t take it anymore.

I want to know if I have things translated right. So I start simple, and hopefully in the Universal language.

“Hello,” I say into the speaker of my computer, so it will translate, as I look right at him. I would say that I got the desired effect, but I didn’t. It is better.

He looks sharply at me, and almost falls over in surprise.

That’s right, fucker, I can talk.

He says something in a hushed voice, trembling almost. But I don’t know what it is. His voice is soft but deep, and he doesn’t seem to have any of the accents I’ve heard so far.

I decide to pull my computer out so he can see it. It’s now or never. I look over at him, and his eyes go wide, looking from my face to my computer.

He stands now and walks right over to me, crouching. I don’t know if he’s going to take this from me, but I have to try.

Instead, he grabs my face and turns me to meet his gaze, his light purple eyes holding mine, and I can’t help but smile.

I think he sees me, and the look of horror on his face as he realizes that I’m not an animal is priceless.

I turn back to my computer and start to speak into it again. “No one understands me. I’m building a translator. Help me? They keep me in here. I’m cold, hungry, and getting weak in here.”

I speak English to my computer. It translates, I think, most of the words, but I think it changed a few.

I hit for it to speak the translated version, listening to how it is pronounced so that I can learn for myself. If this is my new reality, I’m not going to half-ass it.

I look at him while it translates. His eyes take me in anew, and he seems mad, but I don’t think it’s at me. He stands and goes to yell for someone.

No one comes. No one ever comes when you scream. His fists are clenched at his side, muscles corded, and his voice booms.

“It’s no good, they won’t come. I’m sorry if I bother you, but I’ve been in here for a while now, and I just need to try.”

They kidnapped me from my planet and treat me like a slave or an animal. Are you one of them?” I say all at once into my translator.

No point in breaking up my sentences and having my computer translate it for him.

He rushes back down and crouches on his knees next to me.

He’s vibrating with fury, and I see how his face is different from a human. There is enough similarity that I would call him exotically beautiful, though his face is marred by rage, and he looks desperately at me.

He acts as though seeing me in here is too much for him. He points at my computer; I’m excited that he wants to try. I hit the button and motion for him to speak.

“I would never do what they are doing,” the translation sounds flat, but the determination of his voice makes me believe him. But I’m not ready to hope yet.