It had been his birthday.

His thirtieth birthday to be precise. Almost a decade ago, that would have meant a party with friends. A trip to the bars, down some drinks, some good friend, create some life time memories that he would remember for ages. But those times were long gone, those college friends long moving into careers and starting new families. Close ties fractured with time and new responsibilities, and people who were seen on the regular you now only got a yearly phone call with. Life after college was often a strange time for those who had, for almost all the years they had been alive, stuck to the constant routine of the education system. People who seemed to thrive in halls of their schools, excelling in grades or sports, seeming to be on a clear trajectory to a good life, would later inexplicably find themselves crashing and burning, unable to cope with the challenges of the real world. Debts, worthless degrees, the realization that your status in high school didn't mean much to others outside its walls...people who seemed ready to conquer the world were suddenly living in the basement of their parents homes for years, or self destructing as alcohol was the only remedy to coping with the fact that their glory days, perhaps the highest peak of their lives, were now behind them and the long reach of life still ahead of them would never come close to it.

Bradley Peterson was not one of these people. Mediocrity had always been the name of the game for him. He never excelled at sports, he was never on any team, only playing when it was required as a part of physical education classes. When he did play, he wasn't the worst but nor was he anywhere near the top. Academically, he was average. Like many kids, he often had better things to do at home than do his assignments, but he was disciplined enough to not shirk them entirely. He attracted no attention, good or bad, from his peers or the adults ruling his life. Nobody ever intervened in his life, because there was never really a need to. He had no siblings to compete with or look up to. His parents were also incredibly average. His father, who had worked as a law clerk for almost all his life, had not advanced in his career for decades, seeming fully content with his mundane position. His mother, a simple housewife from a traditional family, had dreamed of little than raising a child of her own. There was no push to run a family business, nor follow in the footsteps of his father, who stressed the importance of every person finding their own place in the world on their own accord. This view, while open minded and supportive of his son's independence, offered little in terms of guidance.

The notion of finding one's place became strained as his educational years continued. His science classes exposed him to the beautiful expanse of space, with its countless stars seeming to stretch further than his imagination could even hope to. His family was not religious, and so he did not have the comfort of God and heaven to fall back to. When the inevitable question of mankind's solitude among the galaxies was finally raised, Bradley considered it surely impossible. If the universe truly was as large as modern science claimed, how could there not be life somewhere out in the dark vacuum? But this revelation only begged the question of, if they were not alone, what was their purpose? If, by some incredible feat, it could be proven that mankind stood alone as the sole lifeforms of the cosmos, then perhaps some justification of believing a grand purpose could potentially be perceived. But, if there were others, planets with new entities with new ways of life, then all was lost. Humanity would be just another ball floating among the stars with no set course. No reason to exist other than by mere chance. A measly speck in infinite space.

When his high school graduation finally arrived, talks of college quickly started. With no real guidance from his family, no sports or worthwhile hobbies to pursue, Bradley was completely lost. That's completely normal, he was often told, a lot of people don't discover their path right away. He was advised to focus on his core classes to get them out of the way so that he could focus on his major when he decided what it would be. However, before even two years into his higher education, the rising tuition costs drained the funds his father had saved up for him, and he was forced to return home. It was just as well, despite being there for nearly four semesters, he was no closer to finding his “path”. Instead, he had focused on other things. He had been told countless times that college was about trying new things in one's quest of self discovery, and he found that to be true. It was in the old and ratted halls of his dormitory that he had tried weed, and briefly dated a young woman who shared a morning class with him. But his mediocrity caught up with him even here, as again he joined no sports teams, and, due to his lack of experience, no clubs spoke out to him. He could not act, write, sing, play an instrument, draw, or dance. His lack of creative or physical talent, for the first time, was laid clear before him. Shortly before, and months after, his departure from higher education, he had sunk into a deep depression brought on by his self perceived lack of use.

Fortunately, he had been able to land a job at his local grocery store, which served as a decent distraction from his internal dilemma. For nearly five years he worked at the store, stocking shelves, ring up customers, cleaning bathrooms, doing any job that needed done. Without a higher education, and without his own car, Bradley's employment prospects were limited. The only advancement he had at the store was to promote into management, an idea that utterly repulsed him. What sort of young man aspired for a career at a supermarket? When he was twenty five, he finally saved enough money to buy a car, and was able to get a job at a factory, where he worked on an assembly line. The work was tedious and the hours long, but the money he earned finally enabled him to move out of his parents home into an apartment.

His departure from college left a gap in his social life. Most of his few friends from high school years had long moved away and the few that remained were married with children and had little time. The ones he had met in college were too busy wrapped up in studies or lived too far to make a long drive for a visit. Many of the people he worked with at the grocery store were either teenagers still in high school, or older people who were working part time because retirement had bored them to death. As such, when he moved into his new apartment with his new job, he had few options to celebrate with, and no roommates to spend time with, often resulting in frequent visits with his parents, which he eventually was forced to stop when they sold his childhood home and moved after the lawfirm that his father worked for went under, resulting in his father taking employment with another in another county. Bradley became a regular at bars, where he remained a person of remarkable uninterest, not drinking heavily enough to get into trouble, while also not being charismatic to attract the interest of any ladies. For almost five years his life went on as it had always gone: uneventfully. There was some comfort in knowing that his life was boring. There were, of course, many more people out there who lives were miserable, trapped in terrible relationships, living on the streets without a dime in their pocket, or coping with illness that handicapped them for life. Still...as his twenties began drawing to a anticlimactic close, Bradly began to realize he had little to look back to on his life. He had no major failures, but also no major accomplishments, aside from his high school graduation. So far, he had simply coasted through life, like a man in a dream. Lost, but unable to escape, trying to make sense of the world around him.

Finally, at the beginning of this year, the factory he worked at lost one of their biggest customers, resulting in many being laid off as the work load was greatly diminished. Though he had money saved up and was not in immediate danger of being evicted, as well that the factory promised to offer his job back if business picked up again, it suddenly became a reality that Bradley Peterson would enter his thirtieth year of life single and unemployed. His depression came roaring back, and, without much else to do, he went out his usual bar and drank in honor of his thirty years. In typical fashion, he did not cause any scene despite his inebriation, leaving without incident when the bartender cut him off. His apartment only a few blocks away, he left his car in the parking lot of the bar, and began the long, stumbling journey home. On his way, he made a detour into the local park, sitting down at a park bench when the nausea began to sink into him. After he had tossed his gorge, he leaned back into the old wooden seat and stared up into the clear night sky.

“Thirty years...” He said to absolutely nobody. “Thirty fucking years, Bradley my man. And what do you got to show for it?”

He paused, as if waiting for some voice to answer him.

“You know...” He said, again speaking aloud to no one. “You're not a kid anymore. Not at fucking thirty. When you're in your twenties, everyone still acts like you're a kid. A little baby, right? But not when you're thirty. You're practically middle aged at thirty. I mean, I already got gray hairs. My hair's starting to thin out just like my old man's did. But when my father was thirty, he was already married. Just like everyone else. But not me. Had a job too. I had one, but now I don't. Don't need me anymore. Nobody ever has. Didn't amount to anything anyway. What does it fucking matter, though? Who gives a shit? Even I got it together, this whole planet is fucked anyway, right? The climate is fucked. The economy is fucked. Turn on the damn evening news and tell me we're not all fucked. What does it even matter?”

Again, there was no answer. He sighed.

For the first time in his life, suicide became a serious consideration. It had appeared in his thoughts before, but he had managed to push it away. He had been young, his whole life ahead of him. Now, however, he youth was practically over and everything he had done up till now had lead up to a great big ball of not a damn thing. He stood up from the bench and slowly began to make his way across the park. There was a pond at the other end, and his drunken mind had suddenly come a conclusion.

“I'm gonna drown myself in the fucking pond,” He said loudly. “We're all gonna die in a about ten years or so anyway, right? Right? You're goddamn right. Why bother trying to fix shit when its all gonna amount to jack shit anyway? I'm ahead of the game. I'm just not gonna play. You can't get played when you don't play, that's just how it goes.”

There was, of course no one at the pond. It was almost midnight, it was probably illegal for him to even be here. But he was well beyond caring about such things right now. As he approached the cold water, he saw the night sky in it, the moon and stars reflected in the dark abyss. There was something poetic about that, he thought. He remembered how he had felt in school when he had first discovered the vast expanse of outer space. How the universe was so large it would forever be a mystery to humanity, whose existence on one small ball in the ever expanding cosmos would go unnoticed by whatever was out there when life here finally fizzled out. A man as mediocre as himself was never going to be an astronaut. He would never set foot onto the surface of the moon or brave a trip outside of his own atmosphere. But here, in this lonely park, the reflection of infinite space would be a close enough approximation. He would return to the void that had created him.

“Happy fucking birthday.”

He let himself fall face first into pond. The cold water initially shocked him back to his senses, causing him to paddle frantically to get back to the surface. But then the alcohol in his brain took its toll and his vision quickly began to fade. His last thought was of his parents, before he, as he had promised he would, returned to the void.

2

Later on, he would remember thinking that the events of the previous night, at least after leaving the bars, had been a dream. And not without good reason.

For one, he was clearly alive. Or at least he was pretty sure he was. If this was the afterlife he had hoped it would be something more glamorous than his small apartment. Second, he was still dressed in the same clothes that he'd wallowed around in the night before and they were not even damp from his alleged dive into the park's pond.

But there was a problem. Despite his inebriation, he had very clear memories of the park. His staggering there, the dark hole of depression, and, of course, being swallowed by the cold abyss. If those had not happened, then where had he gone after leaving the bar? More importantly, how had he returned home? There was a painful gap in his memory if his recollections were in fact of a drunken dream. Had he just stumbled here, like a robot in automatic? Had some Samaritan picked him up? Who had they been and where had they gone? His eyes scanned the tables and saw nothing of a note or even any trace that anyone else had been here.

And it got worse.

Suppose that the events of the dream had actually happened. Ignoring that his clothes were bone dry had this Samaritan pulled him from the pond? If so, someone out there was aware of his clumsy suicide attempt. Were the police going to arrive? Ask him where he had been last night and what had happened? Would they contact his parents? At the very least should he expect a call from his mother? What would her reaction be? She'd probably demand he come home. He might end up in the office of a shrink. Pills of some kind would probably be prescribed.

Of course, all that assumed he hadn't dreamt the events at the park. Which he still wasn't sure was the case. He could feel his head begin to spin. And speaking of which, he began to realize how good he felt. Well, “good” probably was not the correct term, rather normal. How NORMAL he felt. He brain didn't feel like it had been used as a punching bag, despite the fact that he had assuredly taken in a box car of booze the night before. Had he even gone to the bars last night? No, of course he had. It had been his birthday, one of the driving factors for his drinking (as well as for his depression, come to think of it). He remembered, clearly, going out...but he also remembered the pond. There was no proof of the latter, but what of the former. Of course! Receipts! For the drinks! He thrust his hand into his pocket, finding the thin pouch that was his wallet. Tossing that aside onto the coffee table, he dug into his jeans again and quickly found the receipts.

They were from last night. And they were damp. The water damage on them was clear.

Bradley Peterson stared at the moist slips of paper in his hands, his mind reeling. And there was no booze to pin the blame on.

“What the fuck?” He said aloud.

“I'm glad to see you up.”

Bradley nearly screamed. He whirled around towards the sound, the damp paper slipping from his fingers. All at once he forgot them. At at once he thought he was dreaming again.

Sitting in the armchair in the corner of the living room of his kitchenette was a young woman. At least, she kinda looked like a young woman, though none like he'd ever seen before. The first thing he noticed was the hair. It was long, it was straight, and it was a deep shade of purple. Then he saw the eyes. They were a rich blue color, but small speckles of white seemed to slowly twirl in the irises like stars. To Bradley, they somehow reminded him of the ring around Saturn. The most striking thing about the woman, however, was her attire, which seemed to be a full body suit which covered every inch of her below the neck; hands, feet and all. The suit was a very light blue, to the point that Bradley thought it was white for a moment. Red circles dotted the surface of the suit, connected by thin lines of the same color. Some sort of wiring? The feet of the suit appeared to be fashioned into some kind of boots, the soles of which white and the grooves seemed to glow from some power source. As his eyes quickly scanned the suit, he became aware of the second striking thing, the sheer size of the woman. Her long legs were stretched out far from the chair she sat in, which she seemed almost too big for, her wide hips barely fitting within the arms of the sofa. But despite her obvious height, her body was not rail thin as most people of extraordinary height tended to be, but rather full and curved. Her face was a fascinating mixture of youth and maturity that Bradley would have struggled to explain had he been asked. Under ordinary circumstances, he might have immediately been smitten with by this woman. But...

“Who the fuck are YOU?” Bradley asked. It came out much ruder than he'd meant. The swear had not been intended, either. But the shock of this unexpected, combined with his previous feelings of confusion about the night before, compounded his mind.

“My name is Arell.” His visitor replied calmly. “And yours is Bradley Peterson.”

“How...?” Peterson breathed. It was all he could manage.

“Simple enough,” The woman called Arell said. “You had your license in your wallet, after all.”

“You looked...” Bradley stopped, his mind reeling again. “Did you...?”

“Yes, I looked in your wallet,” Arell nodded. “And, if you were about to ask, yes, I pulled you out of the pond at the park last night.”

“Oh...” He replied lamely. Well, THAT mystery was solved. Too bad it had already been replaced.

“You were intoxicated.” She said. There was no righteous judgment in her words. “But...that's not why you fell in, was it?”

Bradley didn't answer.

“No.” She shook her head. “There was more to it than that, correct?”

“I...” Peterson began. “...look, I guess I should thank you for saving my life. I...uh...hope I didn't cause you too much stress. I just got pretty hammered last night and...well, I already got one DUI some years back, so I tend to walk when I drink now. I just wandered through the park and fell in. Probably would have been it for me if you hadn't shown up. So...thanks.”

“You're welcome.” Arell replied. She tilted her head. “But I don't think it was that simple. It didn't sound that simple.”

Bradley said nothing.

“I heard you before you fell in the water.” She said. “It was sheer happenstance that I did. It's almost like it was destiny. But you were talking aloud, bemoaning your life. Bemoaning the state of your planet, your country...do you remember?”

He did sort of remember his ramblings. The trip to the pond was clear enough, though some small details were blurry. But her choice of words were a little strange.”Your planet”, “Your country”, she had said?

“You don't feel you've accomplished much,” His visitor went on. He listened carefully. There was an accent in her voice, but it was...strange. It was not a recognizable dialect. “You lost your job recently. You feel that your youth is slipping through your fingers like sand. A life of excruciating inadequacy, coupled with the looming feeling of hopelessness. What point is there to try in a world that one feels is doomed, yes?”

“Well...” Bradley replied uneasily. “...uh, look, um...?”

“Arell.”

“Arell...” He repeated. “That's...an interesting name. Is it...European...?”

“No.” She said simply. Then, she stood up, causing Bradley to retreat a few steps. Her head appeared to be less than an inch from touching the ceiling. Her height had to be almost ten feet! She walked towards the window on the far wall and gazed out it, her hands behind her back. From where he stood, he was just able to see a sliver of what was beyond the glass. He saw a dark, starry sky. “I'm not from planet Earth.”

“Sorry?”

“You heard me correctly.”

“Well, that'd explain your getup,” Bradley said slowly. The feeling of being in a dream began to creep back in. “And your hair, I guess, I just thought that you...” He stopped. Honestly, he hadn't thought of anything.

“I can prove it.” The tall woman replied, turning her head back to look at him. “Quite easily, in fact.”

“Oh, really?”

“Sure. Come look out the window.” She sidestepped from the pane to allow him to approach.

He hesitated. It wasn't because he didn't want to look out the window, of course not. What could there beyond the overview of the highway? No, it was her. He didn't want to get too close to her. She was strange to say the very least, from head to toe. She looked like a character that'd be accompanying Doctor Who on one of his adventures. Her attire didn't seem to be a costume. It looked too...real. There were no events around here, no Comic Con or anything to attract cosplayers, and even then he doubted they'd be able to create something as intricate as her suit. Also, not to put too fine a point on it, she was huge, which seemed to also lead credence to her words. And she was far from frail looking.

“I'm not going to hurt you, Bradley.” She said, as if his thoughts had been flashing at her like a neon sign. “If I had wanted to harm you, I wouldn't have rescued you.”

“Why DID you rescue me?”

“A strange question. Does one require a reason to save another's life?”

“I guess I could ask your question from earlier: it wasn't that simple, was it?”

“Are you going to look out the window or not?”

Again, he hesitated for a moment before he finally began to inch towards her. As he did, he felt a growing awe of how tall she was. Bradley stood around five foot eight, and his head barely reached her hip. He had to crane his neck to even keep eye contact with her, which became more difficult as her face began to recede behind the not inconsiderable swell of her breasts, like the sun disappearing behind the horizon. His body began to tense as he approached the windowsill, a growing apprehension that, despite her assurances, he'd feel her strong hand clasp his shoulder the moment he broke line of sight with her eyes. Still, peeked around the window pane and glanced out.

The highway was gone. In its place was nothing but the vast expanse of the dark, starry night, illuminated by one glowing orb that, to his mounting horror, was not the moon. It was, in fact, the familiar pale blue ball that he knew as Earth. He leapt back, recoiling from both the window and his tall visitor, who watched him with calm interest.

“This is a trick.” He said without thinking. Suddenly, he felt dizzy. “Or a dream. A crazy, drunken dream.”

“I know it's a lot to take in.” Arell said. The sympathy in her voice appeared genuine. “Which is why I fashioned this into the style of your apartment. I didn't want to alarm you by having you wake up in a foreign place.”

“What do you mean 'fashioned'...?”

“This is not your apartment,” She snapped her fingers, the tips of which glowed white in a brief flash. Without blinking, Bradley saw his apartment vanish, replaced by nothing but sheer white. “We're not inside a computer simulation either, if the sudden change of scenery makes you think that.”

“Then where are we...?” He asked. His voice sounded dazed and distant. It was as if he was not himself, but rather just some confused observer residing within his own mind.

“On my ship.” She replied. “Right now, you're in a special room that I've used to communicate with all manner of lifeforms that I've encountered throughout the cosmos. It's equipped with an atom assembler, which...how should I put this? Imagine a machine that is both like a hologram projector and a 3D printer. With it, I can create a wide assortment of constructs, even food. Speaking of which...” She raised one hand, but snapped the fingers of the other. In the free hand, a glass of water appeared. “Would you like a drink? I'm sorry, I meant to offer you one sooner.”

Bradley stared at the glass for a moment. It sure looked real. He took it. It sure FELT real. The water sloshed in the glass held in his shaking hand. Some of it spilled over the side, splashing on his hand. It was cold, ice cold.

“This is just a dream.” He said softly, slowly turning away, the glass falling from his hand. He didn't hear it shatter. “A weird dream. A real WEIRD fucking dream. You've had 'em before. Nothing to worry about, you're still drunk. It'll pass. I'll wake up.”

“I understand this is a lot to take in,” She replied, sympathetically. One of her big hands dropped on his shoulder and squeezed gently. “But this is real, Bradley. I need you to accept that if we're going to move forward.”

“Move forward?” He asked, turning back towards her. She had dropped on one knee behind him, her face closer down to his. He shivered.

“Yes. As I said, I'm from a distant planet called Avakon. The reason I am here is because I'm something of a researcher. I explore the stars and galaxies for planets that contain life, such as little planet Earth. The goal is obviously to discover new species of life, new worlds, new biomes, etc, and to expand our knowledge of the cosmos.” She let go of his shoulder. “But it's not all strictly academic. While we do try to avoid getting directly involved with the native population, we do intervene on occasion should they be facing a particularly devastating disaster. An imminent hit from a large meteor, a dying sun, or even an invasive species. That last one is rare, but it does happen.”

“So you're saying there's some great disaster facing Earth?” Bradley asked, slowly. The world still swam in his eyes, his mind dizzy. Everything still had that dream feeling to it. “What is it?”

“You know what I'm referring to.” Arell said. “Your scientists have broadcast it numerous times in very plain and dire words for quite some time. The increasing temperatures of your planet. What you call 'Global Warming'. The effects of this will be slow, but extremely devastating. Your coastal cities, your agriculture, your very ways of life are all threatened.”

Bradley said nothing.

“As terrible as that alone is, it is not the only pain that humanity suffers,” Arell went on somberly. “Wars, division...your own country seems to be on the brink of a major civil war. Pollution, the deaths of many species, the imbalance of many ecosystems. Starvation in many developing countries. And disease, of course. No doubt you've heard stories of something spreading throughout Wuhan, China. A pestilence that threatens to ravage the entire globe.”

“You mean that strain of flu?”

“It's more than that,” She shook her head. “It is far more viral than your average flu. It will spread across entire continents in a matter of weeks if not contained quickly.”

“Oh...” Peterson said simply. Another out of control plague, huh? Might as well. Haven't had one of those in awhile. Whatever, he still wasn't convinced this was real. But might as well play along till he either woke up or his mind stopped spinning. “So...what? Are you here to save the day? Solve all of our problems?”

“Well...” Arell replied, a look of discomfort coming onto her face. “That's where we encounter another...unique problem.”

“Which is?”

Arell slowly waved her hands down across the length of her body. “Tell me, Bradley Peterson, do you notice something peculiar about me?”

“You're really tall?”

Another look of discomfort, a noticeable grimace. “...yes, that one is no doubt obvious. But look again.” She slowly twirled, showing him all angles of her form. “Doesn't something strike you as odd?”

“Your hair's purple. You're wearing a weird suit. Your eyes are definitely one of a kind, I'll give you that. And...” He paused. “...you're really fucking tall. That's all I got.”

“You don't find it strange that I just told you that I'm from a distant planet,” She said. “And yet, aside from some differences, I am nearly identical in form to your average female here on Earth?”

Bradley paused. He looked at her again, head to toe. There was no denying it. She looked human.

“I...” He began. “I guess I kinda assumed...you said that you could make constructs and stuff with your tech. I just imagined this was some kind of holograph or something. Some form you took.”

“Well...” Another look of discomfort etched her face. “You're not entirely wrong there.” She waved at her body again. “This IS a projection. I'm not actually with you right now, you see. I didn't want to frighten you, but...”

“So this isn't your real form?”

“No, this IS my real form,” She replied. “Just a projection of it. I am not a shape shifter.”

“Well, if this is a projection of you and you're not really here,” Bradley countered. “Then where are you? Look, I still don't fully believe you. This...all this.” He waved around the white room. “This is all crazy. I've been alive for thirty years and I've never seen anything like it. So either I'm dreaming a real wacky dream, or you're a real alien lady from another planet. I think I know which version is real. But while I'm here, whatever 'here' is, why don't you cut it out with the projection or whatever and come and meet me. Face to face.”

Arell looked at him for a moment. Then, she nodded.

“Very well,” She said. “I didn't really want to do this so soon. But, if you're so insistent on believing this isn't real, perhaps it's best. Just a moment then.”

And then, she disappeared. Just faded out of existence like a character in Star Trek being “beamed up”, leaving him alone in the whiteness. Then, the soft hum of a machine powering down filled his ears and the whiteness too faded. Bradley's eyes widened.

He was standing in what looked like a giant glass box, the ceiling and corners of which were adorned with several fixtures and mechanical parts that he didn't recognize at all. But he could see that this wasn't just a box, it was some sort of device. But it wasn't the strange structure that he was in, it was beyond it that made his spine shiver. He seemed to be in some kind of massive facility that stretched on for what seemed like miles. It was nothing like anything he'd seen before. His mind could not even begin to form some understanding of what he was looking at. There was clearly tech, he could see flashing lights and what looked like large machines and structures in the distance, but they were foreign to him.

A ship, his racing mind suddenly thought, she said this was her ship.

How huge was this fucking thing? Was her entire species on this damn thing? Well, it would make sense. This place, as large as it was, would definitely require a lot of manpower to keep maintained. Was she some kind of high ranking captain of something? If she was in charge of all of this, then she had to be a big name among her kind.

That was when he felt it.

A tremor. Soft and distant. Another one followed. Then another. Each time they grew harder and closer. They came at a rhythmic pace that was so familiar Bradley couldn't possibly deny it. Footsteps. Though the tremors were not overpowering, his dazed mind couldn't keep up with them and he fell onto his ass as they continued to grow. Finally, something appeared beyond the walls of his “box”. A wall of very light blue, marked with long thin lines of some electrical wiring, dotted by glowing red dots, appeared before him. The wall was tall, curved in form, and topped her a deep shade of purple hair. Then he saw the eyes.

“Well,” She said, her voice ringing in his ears. “You wanted to see me. Here I am.”

She raised a hand and one of her fingers tapped the ground near the “box”. The ceiling came apart in four equal pieces, folding themselves upward, before sliding down with the glass into slots. Suddenly, he was in no “box”. He felt exposed. Then, the finger raised and slowly approached him. He recoiled from it, but there was nowhere to hid. It gently touched down next to him and then slowly slid into him.

“This is the real me,” Arell said. Her finger rose and then came back down next to him firmly. Then it rose and repeated this a few times. He could feel the impact, feel the air move with the massive appendage. He looked over the hand towards the eyes that watched him. “This is all real, Bradley. This not a dream.”

“You! How!? What!?” He screamed instinctively and incoherently.

“You don't have to yell,” Arell replied calmly. “I've been working with species your size for much of my life. You could say my ears are very finely tuned.” She retracted her hand.

“Wh-What do you want from me!?”

“Ah, that's a very good question.” She sat down and brought her face down till it hovered over him. Her long hair draped down in a long wall near him, some large soft strands brushing against him. He felt the cool rush as her nose sucked in air, and a warm breeze at it exhaled. He could feel her, the heat from her body. Moreover, unlike before, he could SMELL her. A sweet but completely foreign scent filled his own nostrils. Its presence was so much that he could even taste it. Everything about her filled his senses. She was there. She was real.

“We have a lot to talk about...my little Earthy.”