Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
“We only call pet animals that get lost strays,” I say.
“Yes,” he says.
Just yes. The fucking nerve. The fluffy yellow creature looked at me like I was something to consume. These three are looking at me like I’m a wet kitten who just rolled in out of a storm.
Speaking of the third, he is the most astonishing beast I have ever laid eyes on and I am quite literally surrounded by a sentient menagerie.
He is a Minotaur.
Hate to describe it that way, because it feels so terribly human-centric, but he’s a big red bull-like creature with a face that is far more bovine than human—though he can speak.
“Cute,” he says, in a voice that sounds like a bull lowing for his mate. “Does it want something to eat?”
“I’m not an ‘it,’” I say, immediately offended. “I’m a ‘she.’”
“Does she want something to eat?” He repeats the question in an unbothered tone.
“I don’t know if they have anything for humans to eat here. What do they like? Fats? Carbs? Simple starches?”
“We could look it up,” the blond beauty says, pulling out a small tablet.
I am grateful that they seem to care about me on some level, even if it is only on the level of a bunch of frat boys suddenly confronted with a responsibility they didn’t really anticipate having.
“They can’t have cyanide or arsenic,” he reads off the screen. “I feel like arsenic is in a lot of this food.”
“The Deltari have to have arsenic, or their teeth fall out,” the tall one says. None of them have introduced themselves or asked my name. I think that is rude, until I realize it makes perfect sense. I never introduced myself to my friend’s pets either. I did always ask their name, though.
“What should we call her?” The Minotaur broaches the question. “She looks like a Bambi to me.”
“Bambi? That’s a little… I don’t know. She’s pretty small. What about Squeak?”
“What about I punch you guys in the nose,” I growl. “My name is… Lisa.”
It might be Lisa. It might not be Lisa. Who can say?
“Lisa?”
They look at one another, and then shake their heads pretty much in unison.
“You’ll need a galactic name. Like Sprinkles.”
“Sprinkles! Yes!” The blond agrees enthusiastically.
They cannot possibly be for real.
“I have a name,” I protest.
“Yes, but your name is in your tongue, and to us it sounds like you’re making animal noises,” the blond explains. “It would be like…”
“Like if I had to bark like a dog every time I introduced my dog to someone,” I say, hating that I kind of get their point. “Except!” I add. “I’m not an animal, I’m not a pet. I’m a person. I’m sentient!”
“Oh, my god. She is so fucking cute,” the Minotaur says. “I’m a person! I’m sentient!” He does my voice in a little mimicry of my own. “She really thinks she is people.”
I want to slap his face, but I am not close enough and I am also really not sure how you would even begin to slap a Minotaur. He probably wouldn’t even feel it. I am wondering how many mythological creatures are actually just aliens. Do centaurs exist somewhere in space? That would be fucking amazing if so.
I look around the bar while they keep talking. I’m trying to spot something that looks mythical, something that indicates human history has always been interfered with by aliens in one way or another.
It’s kind of crazy to realize that the men with the wild hair and even wilder eyes might have been right all along. Earth has been a sort of sandbox for creatures of all kinds. But we were born there and we felt like we were dominant and it didn’t even fucking occur to us how small and insignificant we could be made to be by the right kind of intelligence.
Even I didn’t really consider it until this very moment, finding myself surrounded by so many various forms of alien life. We were lucky to be allowed the three hundred thousand years or so we got, largely unmolested by aliens except the ones who hid in mazes and things of that nature.
I am having so many thoughts and feelings.
“I think she can probably eat this,” the tall man says. “It’s just sugar in water with a few amino acids and a touch of protein.”
I sip it dubiously, wondering if I’ll survive the taste, but knowing I am going to have to eat something at some point or start to starve.
“It’s a vanilla milkshake!” I exclaim. Then I look at the Minotaur. “Sorry,” I say.
“Sorry for what?” He seems entirely unaware of the series of linkages I just made, and I’m going to let him stay that way. It’s probably really rude to point out that there are animals that look sort of like him on Earth and we drink their milk kind of a lot and breed them up so they make even more milk, and then we make delicious things from it.