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The Alien and the Kid

A young boy meets an alien and plays catch with him.

One evening just before dinner, a young boy stood outside throwing a yellow tennis ball into the air and catching it with his hand. He tossed it up into the air and then caught it. Upon tossing it up into the air, though, the soft ball disappeared. 

He looked up and saw a glistening silver object. The ball floated down to him, not tossed. The boy caught the ball and ran from the silver object. He hid behind the trash bins and watched from his hiding space. 

A small four-foot alien with brown almond eyes stood where he had been standing. The little alien looked like almost human and the boy stared. 

"Hello?" the alien said, turning towards him. "What is this game you're playing?" 

The boy was hesitant and would have run screaming for his parents, but he began slowly emerging. 

"It's called 'tossing the ball' into the air and catching it," he said slowly. 

"It sounds like fun. I'm Qurtis. What's your name?" 

"Ben." Ben walked closer. "Is that your ship?" 

"Not really. My Mom and Dad's. Do you know of any other games?" 

"There's baseball, catch, softball, football," Ben listed all the games he knew and played. "So, why are you here?"

"To learn about humans." 

"Do you want to play catch with me?" Ben asked. "Then we can learn about each other." 


So Ben showed him where to stand and how to play catch. They talked as they passed the ball back and forth. 

Then it was time for Qurtis to leave, and he asked, "Oh. Can I keep the ball? I'd like to show my friends too." 


Ben watched Qurtis leave and then he heard noises from the ship, like a ball being tossed around inside the ship. Then the ship rose into the air and flashed out of existence. 

Then Ben ran into the house, thinking about his new friend. Would he return to learn more new games to share with his people? 

Author's Notes

This is my first story in the science fiction genre I've ever written. I've written many other stories, too. Most of them are stuck in my head, which is a good thing. To me, stories are a way to express myself. I really enjoy writing and this was a quick story. It probably does need editing, but I wanted you all to enjoy the raw talent. 

My imagination is vast. I still have a lot of stories to tell. There is a story I wrote in the fifth grade. It was titled, "The Missing Hat." It was based loosely on a hat my Mom sewed for me. I lost it and then had to have certain people help me find it. It was an okay story, but very very raw. 

The reason why I write is because I was born to write, I just didn't have the time for it. It was a constant battle of some things that prevented me from ever accomplishing it, until later in life, when I realized I had a talent. I read a lot, so I began to find myself in my writings. I poured my heart and soul into my writings. 

I was always told to write what you know, so here I am, writing what I know. 

I was 30 years old when I was diagnosed with high functioning autism. All these years, I was under the impression I had attention deficit disorder. But everything I did pointed to Autism. I kept this hidden, under wraps, in the pursuit of a very normal life. How can you define normal when everything isn't normal? Normal is caring for yourself and going to work to make ends meet. Normal is not having to rely on everyone for everything. Normal is being capable of doing what you learned by socialization and the cues. It wasn't there for me. Social cues, looking people in the eye, and understanding. 

"The Alien and the Kid." I was the alien and I longed for a friend. The story has stuck in my mind all these years. I always felt like an outsider, an alien who was eager for a friend or an understanding.

So I adapted to a wrong diagnosis and it was a shocker. Not only that, but a wake up call. How do I adapt to this? I haven't found out yet. 

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The Alien and the Kid
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