It really sucks, you know. The doorbell rings just as I’m feeding my hair, and for one teeny moment I forget, and open the door without putting on my glasses first.

Poof. One stone television repair person on the porch.

I drag him inside and close the door before I notice anyone else. Shame, he looks like a decent sort, too. His heels scratch furrows into my linoleum as I manhandle (excuse me, wrestle) him to the back door and out into the yard. There he joins my unfortunately growing collection of statues. Some are nice and mossy by now – I’ve been here a while – but there’s a distressing number of them wearing twentieth century clothing.

My hair starts hissing for their food, so I go inside and resume feeding them white mice, bought yesterday at a bargain price from the pet shop. I’m his best client, I’m sure. He thinks I keep pet snakes. He’s not wrong.

I put on my make-up, my hair humming contentedly now that they’re fed. That thing about mirrors … you have to understand, the guy had a magic mirror. Normal ones are not a problem. So I put on make-up, noting that the skin still looks pretty good after all these millennia. And I put on the wig. My hair really loathes the wig, I can tell you. But there’s really no blending in with a head full of snakes, now is there?

Finally comes the momentarily forgotten glasses. Lead-impregnated, specially imported from Switzerland. They think I’m working with seriously weird radiation. It depends from which side you’re looking, I suppose.

Then I’m off to work. I have a job as a lawyer’s receptionist. Just typing, making appointments, the usual. People tend to freeze when I glare at them, but at least the glasses ensure that they resume moving afterwards. It’s kind of useful, that way. I always have their full attention.

I remember to call the TV Company to complain that the repair person had not fixed it. What’s a girl to do but watch TV? It’s not like I’m much into dating these days. There’s the age difference, for one.

On the way home I stop by the supermarket for a TV meal, only to remember the TV is still broken. So I get McDonald’s and watch the sunset from my statue-filled garden.

And life goes on.

Author’s note:  This was written back in 2008 for the Redbubble Bestiary – this story got an honourable mention.
This is a work of original fiction and I reserve all rights to it.
(c) Leoni Venter 2008

<An entry for the Real Hitchhiker’s Guide>

The Earth, although mostly harmless, is infested in places with some very irritating life-forms (excluding humans). As an alien visitor you can choose to avoid these places, but if you absolutely have to see them, here are a few tips about mosquito-hunting.

The irritation level caused by mosquitoes is determined by a number of factors. If you’re unable to hear high frequency sounds and have a blood chemistry based on copper in stead of iron, you will have no trouble at all with mosquitoes. In fact, you can stop reading this right now and go enjoy the interesting experiences these places have to offer (such as being eaten by alligators.)

Right, if you’re still here you’ve got a problem. Mosquitoes are tiny flying insects that attempt to drive you crazy by emitting a high-pitched whine. They also sting and drink the blood of certain organisms. You can use various types of poison to kill or discourage them, but mostly those still leave you with a period of listening to that maddening whine. The most immediate method is to manually squash the mosquito. This is not easy.

First you have to locate it, and the only way is by ear. You have to triangulate its position based on that irritating sound. When you’ve located it, NEVER take your eyes off it, you’ll just lose it if you do. If this means walking backwards and falling over your suitcases, so be it.

Also, do not try to catch it with your hand. In my experience this is extremely likely to fail, and you’ll lose the mosquito while checking your hand to see if you’d caught it.

The best way is to have a (medium to hard) pillow ready, for best accuracy and squashing effectiveness. Follow your mosquito around until it is close to a level, solid surface (such as a wall or ceiling) and then throw the pillow at it with enough force to squash the mosquito without damage to the wall or ceiling.

If you’re lucky this will leave the mosquito stuck on the surface as a trophy of your victory. Otherwise, you’ll have to locate it and try again.

Anyway, this provides a lot of excitement in some very boring places, unless of course, you like being eaten by alligators.

On a hot summer night, humid and sleepy, the pond and its surroundings resound with amphibian revelry. Marveling at the many tones and patterns, I sneak out with a torch to get a look at the members of the chorus. As I step close the chorus falls silent, and in the light a dozen pairs of accusing frog eyes stare at me. I beat a hasty retreat. It is embarrassing to interrupt an orgy.

Once upon a time the world was mine. With a snap of my fingers it would appear. With a blink of my eye the sun would rise, with another, night would draw near.

My world was amazing; it could change in a wink from a spaceship to a schoolroom and then to a farm where sad-eyed ponies and cows and dogs would come at my call, great people all, to play the day away.

Then something went wrong. Other people came along and took over my world, and it refused to change when I tried. It became solid and boring and frighteningly real. And the days all go faster and never slow down; my world is on a downhill slope without brakes and there is only one ending.

So I comfort myself for the loss of this world with steadfast hope in that happily ever after.