Q is for Questions

Okay, I have GOT to stop saying “I’ll get caught up over the weekend” and write all my A-Z Challenge posts ahead of time. Especially when the weather is SO NICE out it would be like a mortal sin to waste it. Running behind again! Sorry the prose will probably be rushed but I’ve got a story in my head for this one! Hopefully it will be fun.


As team leader, Cindy dutifully went in every morning at nine to make an “informal” report to her boss. Her boss, Carla (names may have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent) had what we in the working-world call an “open door policy.” You know the one where the boss basically (lies to you and) says, my door is always open. Please come to me with any questions and concerns. Well, Carla was especially notorious for wanting input and then slamming people for it giving it to her.

Carla was driving home late one night, after doing two hours of (probably unnecessary) unpaid overtime, when suddenly her car was enveloped in bright light, seemingly out of nowhere. Frantically, she hit the brakes, coming to a screeching halt on the fortunately deserted back street. The light was blinding, but she could hear the car door being forced open. Her seat belt was jerked open and then tentacles – honestly to goodness tentacles – ripped her from the car.

She passed out.

When she woke, she was in a white room, alone, curled up on the floor. A voice spoke from…somewhere.

“Are you Carla Reynolds?”

“Yes.” She blinked.

“Do you have any questions you’d like to ask us?”

Carla froze, momentarily speechless. What was this? Had she been kidnapped by some crazy person … with tentacles? She shuddered at the memory.

“Who are you?” she asked, voice low, afraid of the answer.

“What was that? You have to speak up. Humans, so difficult. Speak up.”

“Who are you?” Carla asked, even louder.

“That is a stupid question. We are aliens, from outer space. Honestly. Next question?”

For hours, it went on like that. Carla would ask a question and be berated for it. Finally, the aliens – or whoever – seemed to tire of her. The lights went out, leaving her in total darkness. More tentacled hands, a head-covering of some kind, and then she was in a vehicle  – was it a car or a spaceship? Finally, Carla was back in her car again, on the side of the road, carefully removing what turned out to be a hood with no eye-holes. Shakily, she continued her drive home, getting home in time to get to sleep.

So, the next day….

Cindy braced herself for yet another difficult meeting. She presented her brief report and then braced herself for the inevitable question. “Is there anything you want to ask me about?”

Instead, Carol asked, “So is everything okay? Nothing you want to add? If not, it’s okay.” Her hands were shaking visibly.

Cindy tried to suppress a smile. It had worked. She was going to owe Al over at Silverlight Studios a week’s worth of lunches and maybe more if they ever got caught, but it had actually worked.

“No,” Cindy said, sweetly.  “Thanks for asking though.”

One thought on “Q is for Questions

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