My blanket was soaked with urine when I finally woke up on my couch.
The kitchen was filled with smoke from sausage I was boiling earlier; all the water had evaporated out the pan, and the meat was burnt black.
Both sides of my tongue felt like they had been stabbed with pins. My legs and arms ached as if I had run a marathon. I cancelled my classes and collapsed on my bed, still dizzy.
When I awoke again it was early evening, and my cell phone was out of power. My limbs were still sore, my tongue was swollen, and my lower back felt oddly sore, as if I had been punctured in the same spot where I received a lumbar puncture ten years ago. I had assumed I had a mild seizure from the new blood pressure medication, a sort of reset to get my body readjusted to a slower rhythm. Now I was not so sure about that. I was losing time again.
But that was twenty years ago when I had my first encounter with an extraterrestrial. It was worse then, almost impossible to fathom: I lost an entire week of time, and because we didn’t have cell phones, no one knew I was missing. My cat did, and she never really recovered from encountering the visitors. I was also several states away from my first and last encounter before that day.
I was losing time again, and I realized then that they had not only returned, but that they never really left.
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