Herschel’s Day Drinking Pays Off

“I seen a Martian at Walmart,” Herschel says, walking into the farmhouse kitchen.

Marsha don’t stop snapping beans. “Ain’t no Martians,” she says. “You been drinking.”

This isn’t a question.

Herschel remembers the spaceman’s knowing green eyes, three glowing orbs reading his thoughts like the Sunday paper. He goes back to the bedroom, gets his gun like the alien told him to do.

“What you doing, you damn foo–?”

Marsha head disintegrates mid-thought.

Herschel hadn’t pulled the trigger, didn’t need to. His mind did all the dirty work.

Back to Walmart to see if the spaceship part was true, too.

Moira writes weird stories and pretends to be a rat on the internet. @moirariom.bsky.social www.ohmoira.com