I'm not entering myself into my own competition, but I don't want to be left out either! So here's my effort. It was runner up in the Writers' Magazine competition many moons ago - Louise Wise
The Alien
Was it human? It didn’t look human.
Its eyes were a strange blue colour, but they weren’t looking at me. Just staring
up at the Winnie-The-Poo spinney thing over its cot. Its face was red from
crying – or anger, I couldn’t tell.
I ducked down and wriggled out of
the nursery on my belly. Better the alien not see me go, it might laser me with
its weird eyes. My dad’s legs stopped me from wriggling all the way to the top
of the stairs.
‘I’m going to feed Ella, and see
if that sends her to sleep,’ he said, sounding tired.
The alien began to make strange
noises, which rose into an ear-splintering wail. Dad stepped over me and headed
into its compound.
I wriggled back towards the
nursery, and watched as my dad lifted the alien into his arms making soothing
noises. He settled into the feeding chair and began to feed it alien protein.
‘Is Mum still in bed?’ I asked
from the doorway (didn’t want to get too close).
The alien grunted, and sucked
furiously. After a moment, Dad pulled the bottle out of the alien’s mouth, and
sat it up. He began to rub its back. The alien began to wail, and Dad quickly
laid it down and stuck the bottle back in its mouth. The crying stopped.
‘Sorry, son, what did you say?’
asked Dad.
‘Is Mummy still poorly?’
‘She isn’t ill,’ Dad said. ‘She’s
tired. You must be a good and play quietly. OK?’
I wriggled away. The alien was
boring. All it did was cry, sleep and poo. The poo was a yucky green, which was
the only cool thing about it.
The alien had been growing in
Mummy’s tummy for months. She’d been getting fatter and fatter and fatter. I
thought she was going to pop. Good job she didn’t. What a mess! The doctor
called Midwife (stupid name) took the alien out. Mummies have a special hole
for babies to come out. I was glad to hear this. I thought they’d cut Mummy
open and forget to sew her back up or something. Or sew her to the operating
table! I tried to imagine Mummy cooking dinner with a large table stuck to her
back.
