Stare At The Ceiling

It was like I was in Norway or something. The night seemed endless and I just lay there staring at the ceiling. For hours, hours, hours. Just staring until two little holes burned through as if laser beams shot out of my eyes.

Last night I had a few friends over for a dinner party. We listened to music, had a little wine and cheese. I cooked and served a beautiful dinner. I don’t bake, so I bought dessert, but it was a very good dessert. I went to bed quite late, feeling fine. But I never fell asleep.

Light streamed in, two perfect white streams of light. My face was brightened by, what, moonbeams? The incoming light flickered a few times. Maybe it was birds or bats flying by. I continued to stare.

Aliens, I think, intercepted my eye beams. They traced the source to our planet, to my bedroom. To me.

The entered the room invisibly but I felt their presence. Whatever. I kept staring fixedly at the ceiling. My eye beams began changing color: red, then yellow, then blue. I watched the show and some sparkling started. Then it turned into a kind of silent fireworks.

The aliens rummaged through my closet and my dresser. They picked up my wallet from the side table and pocketed it. Or something, I don’t think they had pockets.

The ceiling started to catch fire. The aliens panicked and fled. I continued to stare at the ceiling.

That diner I made last night, I thought I used shiitake mushrooms when I cooked it. But I’m starting to think I may have used a different kind.