Neo Chronicles: Black Void
Episode 01: Just Another Day
Table of Contents
((Opening Theme))
So there's this thing I do from time to time when I'm not exactly engaged into whatever's going on around me.
What's going on around me? Well, you know. I'm a fifteen year old, average, everyday black kid living in the 30th—31st in a few months—century. It's a weekday. It's a Thursday. Thursday, October 12th, 3000. Given that, it's pretty easy to imagine what's going on around me.
I'm in school. I'm in class. I'm sitting at my desk right now, staring at this personalized, holographic projection of a computer screen in front of me. This is a programming class, and I'm teaching myself how to code.
Yeah, that's right. I'm teaching myself – or at least, trying to. The reason is because good ol' Mr. Bloomberg over there is done for the day. He's sitting in his chair, staring at the holographic computer screen in front of him feeling fulfilled in his contribution to the student learning process.
Don't get me wrong. He's a great guy, but honestly, a robot could do his job better than he does. Seriously, all he does is come in, pull open a ready-made presentation, and reads it out loud like the whole class is supposed to follow along and get it the first time around. That ain't no way to teach. But hey, what can you do? If I were to ask him something, he'd just say the answers on the Infosphere, so just DL it from there.
It's cool though. Next City Technology High School's got plenty of other teachers good at their thing, and like Bloomberg, they're all really cool, too. If worse comes to worse, I could send them a message asking them to explain it, and they'd be cool with it.
As for right now, though, I'm still tryna get a handle on it for myself. I mean, I kinda like the stuff. Programming is the way everything in the world works. If I get this skill under my belt, I'd be able to do anything I want. I could make a video game, write a story, make music, do whatever. All those sci-fi shows I be watchin', I could be on the other side puttin' out there. So yeah, I wanna learn this crud.
Stupid arrays. Real talk, it's probably better that Bloomberg is havin' us work it alone. I work better alone. Helps me put stuff in order in my head. It helps to think it out. Make this abstract thing concrete. “Abstract.” I didn't even know what that word meant until taking this class, so I am actually learning. Just wish I was learning better.
Who's smart in this class? Maybe I could get someone – nope, nope, nope. Dang, forgot for a moment who's actually in here with me. See, the people in here are all students. They're all high school students. We're in the tenth grade, and tenth graders tend to act a certain way when they're virtually unsupervised.
Very few of us are actually trying to learn. I don't blame 'em. If this were another subject, I'd be goofin' off, too. Still, though. The class is broken up. It's divided. Segmented. We got a cliques of all types in here.
There're the party people. The class clowns. They're the loudest of the bunch. We got the goths. Not so much loud, but still annoying, because they think they're making some groundbreaking statement about life every time they speak. What's the latest one? “Life sucks, and then you die.” What is that mess? We got the geeks. I say geek, but I might actually be meaning nerd. I don't know, but if you ask them, they'll definitely spell out the difference for you. Whatever the case, tech, cartoons, fan-fiction, and whatever, those are the ties that bond them. We got the band people. Always talking about some sorta rock, metal, or whatever. We got the outcasts. We got the preps. There's a little of everything for everyone.
Don't get it twisted though. This whole school is made up of a bunch of outcasts. If everyone here got transferred to a bigger, more public like public school, every last one of these freaks and geeks would be just that: freaks and geeks. Only at NCTHS can they form a haven for themselves. That's the funny thing. It's funny and sad, too.
And that's why I hate 'em all.
Alright, that might be goin' a bit far. That's not the only reason I hate 'em, but it's definitely up there. But that's a rant for another time.
The bell rings, so class is now over.
Walking through the halls, I see all manner of geek, nerd, prep, goth, and clown walking about. Everyone's making some drastic exclamation about how different they are from everybody else. You see the irony in that, right? I know you do. You see all, right? You gotta be seein' this, and you gotta be seein' me.
On the real, I'm jus' like 'em, too. I try not to be, but jus' me doin' that makes me a parta tha problem. Not that it actually is a problem. Everyone's gotta rebel against somethin' sometime. I guess. I dunno. See, I got all these diffent thoughts fightin' up against these different feelings, I jus' really don't know what's goin' on.
But whatever, doe.
I make it to my next class with a coupla minutes ta spare. I pick out my desk in the front of the room. Most the otha kids like ta flock on in the back. There's that rebellion again. I hate it. But I can't hate it at the same time. Life's confusin' sometimes.
So I'm unpackin' here. Takin' out a smart-sheet an' the stylus that goes along with it. Jus' got this new one, too. My old one's already full. It's cool that you can take notes on this one sheet of digital paper and transfer your notes from that paper to your harddrive at home, but I got sloppy handwriting. My letters is bigger than the recommended size, so my sheet fills up faster than most. They gotta figure some way to make that better.
Brittany sits next to me. I don't know her. I know what she looks like. Black, braided hair down to the middle of her back, light brown skin, wearin' a shirty, blue, pink, and white fractal-designed blouse, and some jeans. She don't know me. But since day one this semester, she been tryna get me to speak. I mean, I guess I respect her. She's sittin' up front, she's engaged in the lecture, she always asking good questions. My only problem with her is she always be tryna do it around me.
I sat in this spot, and this is the spot I been at. It's mine. But there she is, always comin' in a minute before or after me, an' she always sits in the desk to the left of me. What's up with that? And to make matters worse, she always asks how my day's going or if I got the same answer she did or whatever else she can think of. We ain't got no common interests. I don't like talkin'. What's her deal?
“Hey Darius.”
There she go again! Ridiculous! Whatever, doe. She's used to it by now. I don't respond.
“So how was your night? These chemical equations working out for you? I know I had to message Ms. Miller for some help.”
She still talking. I'm still ignoring her. It's a thing. She'll eventually give up. Ms. Miller, the teacher, will eventually start. And I'll eventually be on my way to the next class. It's all good.
Or at least it would be if her friend Tiana didn't show up.
“Brittany, don't pay him no time of day. I done tried all last year to get him to talk! He just won't do it! I'mma tell you, girl. Something is wrong with him!”
Tiana and I had a couple classes together last year. Like Brittany, she tried to engage me in that whole “small talking” nonsense. She got the hint, knew I wasn't playin', but for some reason, she took offense to it. Ever since, she's been on my case about it, and it's kinda been gettin' on my nerves.
“Oh, I'm sorry! Does that upset you?”
I didn't realize it, but my face is apparently mirroring my disdain for her right now. And boy, do I feel disdainful right now. I mean she on my last nerve.
“Then stop bein' so weird! Damn!” she goes on.
But I keep it bottled in. You know my heart. You know my mind. You know good an' well how much I wanna smack the talk outta her right now, but I got self-control. I'mma jus' have ta hol' dat right now. This too shall pass. Yes, lawd. This too shall pass.
I turn my gaze from her to the front of the room. Ms. Miller's about to get started. It's gonna take a minute for the class to quiet down, but most of the people respect her, so it shouldn't be too long. She's one of the cool teachers. I mean, all the teachers here are cool in their own way, but Ms. Miller is on the wild side of cool. She's one of them Anthros.
Anthros are an interesting subculture of people. Interesting is the only word I can think to call it. It's one thing to get tattoos and piercings, dress in black, dress in bright colors, and do all these superficial things to yourself like must other subcultures do, but when it comes to DNA hacking? That's all the way out there. But that's how them Anthros roll. They splice themselves with animal DNA.
The result. Well, as you can tell from Ms. Miller, you can get bunny ears. Big white bunny ears. She got a whole lil red, riding hood thing goin' on today. Is that a cloak? Ms. Miller so crazy. Red cloak, white blouse, black pants, and her glasses all to go along with her German features.
Tiana eventually gave up on me an' sat down. Thank you Jesus. I hear Brittany whisper something along the lines of “Sorry about her. She can get, well, you know.” Yeah, I know Brittany. Yeah, I know.
The class goes on like it normally does. I'm not all for Chemistry in general, but Ms. Miller makes it fun. Still chemistry, though. Like with most things science, I love the theories that come from it, the applications, and the possibilities that stem from it, but actually doing the work—like this balancing stuff she's goin' over now—I'd just rather not.
The class goes on like it normally does. Brittany asks her questions. Ms. Miller is all too eager to answer them. I take my notes. The class ends. And I move on to the hallway.
Along the way, I run into a familiar looking face. We're both heading the same way, so I start up a convo with him.
“What up, Kai?” I say.
His name is Jamal Quinton Hezekiah Michaels. The guy with four first names. Always cracks me up. We went to the same elementary and middle school. I was a grade ahead of him, but we still hung out on occasion.
“Why you call me that?”
“It's your name.”
“My name's Jamal.”
“It's also Hezekiah, and Kai sounds cooler.”
“Whatever, nerd.”
“So how's your first year here going?”
“Fine. It's different from middle school. A lot more people.”
“Yeah. But to be fair, we did go to a pretty small middle school. Classes alright?”
“Yeah, nothin' too bad now. Mostly a repeat of what I already had.”
“And that's thanks to that middle school. Gotta say, it didn't have much, but at least they kept us ahead of the curve. Should make all A's this year. Free. That's what I did. After that, it's all new, like I'm starting to find out. Guess you got that to look forward to.”
“Can't wait. Well, here's my stop.”
“Peace.” He heads into, what looks like a literature class. Yeah, that's Ms. Sough. Definitely literature.
As for me, the rest of my day is pretty much the same ol' run of the mill stuff. More classes, more people I don't like, more teachers I do and don't like, lunch, classes. You get the idea. It's high school. Just another day.
Just another day of me goin' through the motions. It's not like I'm bored or upset with them. I like structure in my life. School gives me that. For all the good and all the bad that comes with it, it's a part of my life, and I'm okay with that. There's no yearning for it to all be over. I'm not lookin' to escape from it.
Well.
I say that.
Then the clock strikes 3:10, and I'm all about ready to put it behind me.
Schools over with, and I'm outside waitin' for my mommy outside. I'm sitting on the front steps of the school entrance. There're all sorts of other students waiting for their ride, too. The roads leading up here are always congested with traffic, which is expected, considering this being a school and all.
I'd rather wait alone, but I don't mind having the company. Well, I would mind if it was someone else, but Lynn here? Lynn Taylor? We go way back. White girl, pink hair, dressed in a blue sweater, and some white shorts. She used to come to my mom's daycare center when we was kids. All the trouble we got into really bonded us over the years. Her, me, and this other dude named Chris. Speaking of him,
“Chris show up today?”
“Nope,” she replies.
“What's this, his tenth?”
“At least.”
“Dang. Any more absences, and they'll hold him back. The negro jus' got here. Already messin' up.”
“I've been telling him, but he won't listen. That boy needs to grow up.”
“You're one to talk.”
“Excuse me?”
“Wasn't it just last week you used your ST to hide your mom's keys so she wouldn't go out that one night?”
“There was a perfectly good reason for that!”
“And not too long ago, you got mad at some girl an' ended up turnin' her skin blue? Over some petty type mess, too.”
“She deserved it!”
“You even remember what she did?”
“It was years ago!”
“It was last year!”
“Come on!”
“Hey, all's I'm sayin' is that you gotcho wild side, too. An' you havin' yo weird ol' 'I can do whatever I want cuz it's magic' type deal doesn't make it any better.”
“You got super strength.”
“Yeah, I can lift large objects.”
“And get hit by large objects without feeling anything.”
“Oh, I feel it. Don't hurt that much, but I feel it. Whatever though. This yo first year here, too. How you adjustin'?”
“Well, it's better than middle school.”
“Middle school wasn't that bad.”
“For you, maybe. But where me and Chris went? It was horrible. Not all of us had the luxury of attending some private school.”
“Yo real talk, that money came outta no where. I mean, it came from some where, but –”
“I know, I know. Just messin' with you. Well, there's your ride.”
She points out the sky blue, minivan hovering in front of us. She waves hello at my mom, and I stand to my feet.
“You an' Chris comin' over?”
“I got no idea what Chris is doing, but I have way too much homework.”
“Look atchu actin' all studious. A'ight den. Take care.”
And that's how the day ends. I get in the van. Say what's up to my twelve year old sister, Jade, in the back, and mom takes us home. All and all, an alright kinda day. Nothin' drastic happened. Nothin' too out of the ordinary broke out. It was just another day, and I was cool with it.
Now it's night time. I've finished my homework, and I'm just about done reading this digital comic. I'm ready to head to bed now, and in, like, two seconds I will. But somethin' keeps me up for those last two seconds. Something loud, something booming, something quick, and something outside.
I check the clock to see it's 10:59. Mom's is sleep. Jade's sleep. It's jus' me. Mom's always said to be investigating anything that happens around the house, so that's what I do. I check out the front window of my room and see nothin'. I rush downstairs all quiet like to see if someone broke in. No broken windows, no broken door, so we good on that front. I check the back window and see –
Well, it's late. I'm tired. I been talkin' with you all day, so I know you're tired of me, too. And I'mma let you go, too. But before that, before you go...
Mind explainin' to me what the crud a bloody spaceship's doin' in my backyard?
Episode 01: Just Another Day
Table of Contents
((Opening Theme))
So there's this thing I do from time to time when I'm not exactly engaged into whatever's going on around me.
What's going on around me? Well, you know. I'm a fifteen year old, average, everyday black kid living in the 30th—31st in a few months—century. It's a weekday. It's a Thursday. Thursday, October 12th, 3000. Given that, it's pretty easy to imagine what's going on around me.
I'm in school. I'm in class. I'm sitting at my desk right now, staring at this personalized, holographic projection of a computer screen in front of me. This is a programming class, and I'm teaching myself how to code.
Yeah, that's right. I'm teaching myself – or at least, trying to. The reason is because good ol' Mr. Bloomberg over there is done for the day. He's sitting in his chair, staring at the holographic computer screen in front of him feeling fulfilled in his contribution to the student learning process.
Don't get me wrong. He's a great guy, but honestly, a robot could do his job better than he does. Seriously, all he does is come in, pull open a ready-made presentation, and reads it out loud like the whole class is supposed to follow along and get it the first time around. That ain't no way to teach. But hey, what can you do? If I were to ask him something, he'd just say the answers on the Infosphere, so just DL it from there.
It's cool though. Next City Technology High School's got plenty of other teachers good at their thing, and like Bloomberg, they're all really cool, too. If worse comes to worse, I could send them a message asking them to explain it, and they'd be cool with it.
As for right now, though, I'm still tryna get a handle on it for myself. I mean, I kinda like the stuff. Programming is the way everything in the world works. If I get this skill under my belt, I'd be able to do anything I want. I could make a video game, write a story, make music, do whatever. All those sci-fi shows I be watchin', I could be on the other side puttin' out there. So yeah, I wanna learn this crud.
Stupid arrays. Real talk, it's probably better that Bloomberg is havin' us work it alone. I work better alone. Helps me put stuff in order in my head. It helps to think it out. Make this abstract thing concrete. “Abstract.” I didn't even know what that word meant until taking this class, so I am actually learning. Just wish I was learning better.
Who's smart in this class? Maybe I could get someone – nope, nope, nope. Dang, forgot for a moment who's actually in here with me. See, the people in here are all students. They're all high school students. We're in the tenth grade, and tenth graders tend to act a certain way when they're virtually unsupervised.
Very few of us are actually trying to learn. I don't blame 'em. If this were another subject, I'd be goofin' off, too. Still, though. The class is broken up. It's divided. Segmented. We got a cliques of all types in here.
There're the party people. The class clowns. They're the loudest of the bunch. We got the goths. Not so much loud, but still annoying, because they think they're making some groundbreaking statement about life every time they speak. What's the latest one? “Life sucks, and then you die.” What is that mess? We got the geeks. I say geek, but I might actually be meaning nerd. I don't know, but if you ask them, they'll definitely spell out the difference for you. Whatever the case, tech, cartoons, fan-fiction, and whatever, those are the ties that bond them. We got the band people. Always talking about some sorta rock, metal, or whatever. We got the outcasts. We got the preps. There's a little of everything for everyone.
Don't get it twisted though. This whole school is made up of a bunch of outcasts. If everyone here got transferred to a bigger, more public like public school, every last one of these freaks and geeks would be just that: freaks and geeks. Only at NCTHS can they form a haven for themselves. That's the funny thing. It's funny and sad, too.
And that's why I hate 'em all.
Alright, that might be goin' a bit far. That's not the only reason I hate 'em, but it's definitely up there. But that's a rant for another time.
The bell rings, so class is now over.
Walking through the halls, I see all manner of geek, nerd, prep, goth, and clown walking about. Everyone's making some drastic exclamation about how different they are from everybody else. You see the irony in that, right? I know you do. You see all, right? You gotta be seein' this, and you gotta be seein' me.
On the real, I'm jus' like 'em, too. I try not to be, but jus' me doin' that makes me a parta tha problem. Not that it actually is a problem. Everyone's gotta rebel against somethin' sometime. I guess. I dunno. See, I got all these diffent thoughts fightin' up against these different feelings, I jus' really don't know what's goin' on.
But whatever, doe.
I make it to my next class with a coupla minutes ta spare. I pick out my desk in the front of the room. Most the otha kids like ta flock on in the back. There's that rebellion again. I hate it. But I can't hate it at the same time. Life's confusin' sometimes.
So I'm unpackin' here. Takin' out a smart-sheet an' the stylus that goes along with it. Jus' got this new one, too. My old one's already full. It's cool that you can take notes on this one sheet of digital paper and transfer your notes from that paper to your harddrive at home, but I got sloppy handwriting. My letters is bigger than the recommended size, so my sheet fills up faster than most. They gotta figure some way to make that better.
Brittany sits next to me. I don't know her. I know what she looks like. Black, braided hair down to the middle of her back, light brown skin, wearin' a shirty, blue, pink, and white fractal-designed blouse, and some jeans. She don't know me. But since day one this semester, she been tryna get me to speak. I mean, I guess I respect her. She's sittin' up front, she's engaged in the lecture, she always asking good questions. My only problem with her is she always be tryna do it around me.
I sat in this spot, and this is the spot I been at. It's mine. But there she is, always comin' in a minute before or after me, an' she always sits in the desk to the left of me. What's up with that? And to make matters worse, she always asks how my day's going or if I got the same answer she did or whatever else she can think of. We ain't got no common interests. I don't like talkin'. What's her deal?
“Hey Darius.”
There she go again! Ridiculous! Whatever, doe. She's used to it by now. I don't respond.
“So how was your night? These chemical equations working out for you? I know I had to message Ms. Miller for some help.”
She still talking. I'm still ignoring her. It's a thing. She'll eventually give up. Ms. Miller, the teacher, will eventually start. And I'll eventually be on my way to the next class. It's all good.
Or at least it would be if her friend Tiana didn't show up.
“Brittany, don't pay him no time of day. I done tried all last year to get him to talk! He just won't do it! I'mma tell you, girl. Something is wrong with him!”
Tiana and I had a couple classes together last year. Like Brittany, she tried to engage me in that whole “small talking” nonsense. She got the hint, knew I wasn't playin', but for some reason, she took offense to it. Ever since, she's been on my case about it, and it's kinda been gettin' on my nerves.
“Oh, I'm sorry! Does that upset you?”
I didn't realize it, but my face is apparently mirroring my disdain for her right now. And boy, do I feel disdainful right now. I mean she on my last nerve.
“Then stop bein' so weird! Damn!” she goes on.
But I keep it bottled in. You know my heart. You know my mind. You know good an' well how much I wanna smack the talk outta her right now, but I got self-control. I'mma jus' have ta hol' dat right now. This too shall pass. Yes, lawd. This too shall pass.
I turn my gaze from her to the front of the room. Ms. Miller's about to get started. It's gonna take a minute for the class to quiet down, but most of the people respect her, so it shouldn't be too long. She's one of the cool teachers. I mean, all the teachers here are cool in their own way, but Ms. Miller is on the wild side of cool. She's one of them Anthros.
Anthros are an interesting subculture of people. Interesting is the only word I can think to call it. It's one thing to get tattoos and piercings, dress in black, dress in bright colors, and do all these superficial things to yourself like must other subcultures do, but when it comes to DNA hacking? That's all the way out there. But that's how them Anthros roll. They splice themselves with animal DNA.
The result. Well, as you can tell from Ms. Miller, you can get bunny ears. Big white bunny ears. She got a whole lil red, riding hood thing goin' on today. Is that a cloak? Ms. Miller so crazy. Red cloak, white blouse, black pants, and her glasses all to go along with her German features.
Tiana eventually gave up on me an' sat down. Thank you Jesus. I hear Brittany whisper something along the lines of “Sorry about her. She can get, well, you know.” Yeah, I know Brittany. Yeah, I know.
The class goes on like it normally does. I'm not all for Chemistry in general, but Ms. Miller makes it fun. Still chemistry, though. Like with most things science, I love the theories that come from it, the applications, and the possibilities that stem from it, but actually doing the work—like this balancing stuff she's goin' over now—I'd just rather not.
The class goes on like it normally does. Brittany asks her questions. Ms. Miller is all too eager to answer them. I take my notes. The class ends. And I move on to the hallway.
Along the way, I run into a familiar looking face. We're both heading the same way, so I start up a convo with him.
“What up, Kai?” I say.
His name is Jamal Quinton Hezekiah Michaels. The guy with four first names. Always cracks me up. We went to the same elementary and middle school. I was a grade ahead of him, but we still hung out on occasion.
“Why you call me that?”
“It's your name.”
“My name's Jamal.”
“It's also Hezekiah, and Kai sounds cooler.”
“Whatever, nerd.”
“So how's your first year here going?”
“Fine. It's different from middle school. A lot more people.”
“Yeah. But to be fair, we did go to a pretty small middle school. Classes alright?”
“Yeah, nothin' too bad now. Mostly a repeat of what I already had.”
“And that's thanks to that middle school. Gotta say, it didn't have much, but at least they kept us ahead of the curve. Should make all A's this year. Free. That's what I did. After that, it's all new, like I'm starting to find out. Guess you got that to look forward to.”
“Can't wait. Well, here's my stop.”
“Peace.” He heads into, what looks like a literature class. Yeah, that's Ms. Sough. Definitely literature.
As for me, the rest of my day is pretty much the same ol' run of the mill stuff. More classes, more people I don't like, more teachers I do and don't like, lunch, classes. You get the idea. It's high school. Just another day.
Just another day of me goin' through the motions. It's not like I'm bored or upset with them. I like structure in my life. School gives me that. For all the good and all the bad that comes with it, it's a part of my life, and I'm okay with that. There's no yearning for it to all be over. I'm not lookin' to escape from it.
Well.
I say that.
Then the clock strikes 3:10, and I'm all about ready to put it behind me.
Schools over with, and I'm outside waitin' for my mommy outside. I'm sitting on the front steps of the school entrance. There're all sorts of other students waiting for their ride, too. The roads leading up here are always congested with traffic, which is expected, considering this being a school and all.
I'd rather wait alone, but I don't mind having the company. Well, I would mind if it was someone else, but Lynn here? Lynn Taylor? We go way back. White girl, pink hair, dressed in a blue sweater, and some white shorts. She used to come to my mom's daycare center when we was kids. All the trouble we got into really bonded us over the years. Her, me, and this other dude named Chris. Speaking of him,
“Chris show up today?”
“Nope,” she replies.
“What's this, his tenth?”
“At least.”
“Dang. Any more absences, and they'll hold him back. The negro jus' got here. Already messin' up.”
“I've been telling him, but he won't listen. That boy needs to grow up.”
“You're one to talk.”
“Excuse me?”
“Wasn't it just last week you used your ST to hide your mom's keys so she wouldn't go out that one night?”
“There was a perfectly good reason for that!”
“And not too long ago, you got mad at some girl an' ended up turnin' her skin blue? Over some petty type mess, too.”
“She deserved it!”
“You even remember what she did?”
“It was years ago!”
“It was last year!”
“Come on!”
“Hey, all's I'm sayin' is that you gotcho wild side, too. An' you havin' yo weird ol' 'I can do whatever I want cuz it's magic' type deal doesn't make it any better.”
“You got super strength.”
“Yeah, I can lift large objects.”
“And get hit by large objects without feeling anything.”
“Oh, I feel it. Don't hurt that much, but I feel it. Whatever though. This yo first year here, too. How you adjustin'?”
“Well, it's better than middle school.”
“Middle school wasn't that bad.”
“For you, maybe. But where me and Chris went? It was horrible. Not all of us had the luxury of attending some private school.”
“Yo real talk, that money came outta no where. I mean, it came from some where, but –”
“I know, I know. Just messin' with you. Well, there's your ride.”
She points out the sky blue, minivan hovering in front of us. She waves hello at my mom, and I stand to my feet.
“You an' Chris comin' over?”
“I got no idea what Chris is doing, but I have way too much homework.”
“Look atchu actin' all studious. A'ight den. Take care.”
And that's how the day ends. I get in the van. Say what's up to my twelve year old sister, Jade, in the back, and mom takes us home. All and all, an alright kinda day. Nothin' drastic happened. Nothin' too out of the ordinary broke out. It was just another day, and I was cool with it.
Now it's night time. I've finished my homework, and I'm just about done reading this digital comic. I'm ready to head to bed now, and in, like, two seconds I will. But somethin' keeps me up for those last two seconds. Something loud, something booming, something quick, and something outside.
I check the clock to see it's 10:59. Mom's is sleep. Jade's sleep. It's jus' me. Mom's always said to be investigating anything that happens around the house, so that's what I do. I check out the front window of my room and see nothin'. I rush downstairs all quiet like to see if someone broke in. No broken windows, no broken door, so we good on that front. I check the back window and see –
Well, it's late. I'm tired. I been talkin' with you all day, so I know you're tired of me, too. And I'mma let you go, too. But before that, before you go...
Mind explainin' to me what the crud a bloody spaceship's doin' in my backyard?
