Dear Planet Earth,
I donâ€™t know how to write this. I donâ€™t know how to interpret it. But here goes.
General Talpa asked me to see him after theÂ most recent cyber attack by our mole men invaders. I met him in the laundry room underneathÂ the hotel. It was dark, only a few of the manyÂ fluorescentÂ lights were on, giving each industrial sized washing machine a dim glow against its steel exterior.
â€œMr. Panus,â€ Talpa said from the other side of the room. â€œCome.â€
I was able to make out the unsettling scene as I approached. The general stood with four other soldiers flanking him on either side. They partly encircled a young man and woman on their knees. They were both blindfolded and had their hands and feet tied together.
â€œI need you to write about something, on your blog.â€ He pulled out a pistol from his holster. â€œWe found these two playing with the fuse box last Wednesday. They cut the power to the hotel, and had a truck packed up with three children along with someÂ rifles and grenades.â€
He slowly circled the prisoners as they began to wail and affirm their innocence.
â€œI need you to write about how our resistance has a zero-tolerance policy when it comes to humans selling out their own species. Tell your readers, tell theÂ world, that theseÂ â€˜homies,â€™ as youâ€™ve decided to call them, are just as guilty and susceptible to our wrath as the invaders themselves.â€
He pointed the pistol toward the manâ€™s sweaty forehead.
He pointed the pistol toward the woman, whose piercing scream will follow me in every future nightmare.
â€œWrite about that.â€
Join the resistance at Beneath Average