Taming the Alien

Fenton could hear Celine Dion with ‘You Are The Reason’ and wasn’t sure was it real or a memory.

He stared intently at the almost empty tequila bottle. No worm at the bottom.

The Alien had followed Stella into the poor part of town. At least he thought it was her. He’d yet to catch up on her, see her full face. She was always an elusive ten yards away. Gradually, he’d been lured into the shanty area. All the evidence of dire poverty escaped him. Spotting the sign ‘CANTINA’, he’d stumbled into a shack. Now he shouted to the bartender, ‘Where’s my worm?’

‘Que?’

‘I can’t see him! Jesus … unless I ate the fucker … Can yah eat them?’

The barman shrugged his shoulders. He was about to close as the wind was up and howling. The Alien had a mess of dollars before him. The barman pocketed them, shoved a bottle of mescal into Fenton’s arms then got him outside. ‘Go, Senor, the hurricane ees here.’

‘Fuck off.’

Fenton slumped down against the shack, opened the mescal, drank deep and shuddered. Then he closed his eyes.

When the hurricane hit, the poorer areas took the brunt.

The tourist hotels, resort and apartments escaped.

Down in the shanty the Cantina was practically demolished.

It took a long time for the rescue teams to find Fenton, and by the time they got him to hospital, it was too late to save his legs.