@Iien

By R. J. Davnall

E.T. Just Phoned - It's For You!

The internet is an anxious place at the best of times. Now earth is receiving its first ever confirmed transmission from aliens, and NASA are trying to crowdsource a response...

Content warning: this short story contains first-person descriptions of panic attacks which some readers may find difficult.

• Language: English
• Publisher: R. J. Davnall
• Release date: Jan 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463491836

R. J. Davnall

R. J. Davnall is a brightly-plumed, semi-nocturnal cryptid native to northwestern England. She has been making up stories, including her own, all her life, and thus probably shouldn't be trusted to write her own bio. When disguised as a human, she is a Lecturer in Philosophy and Game Design Studies, and a member of the Olaf Stapledon Centre for Speculative Futures, at the University of Liverpool

Book preview

@lien

By R.J. Davnall

Published by R. J. Davnall at Smashwords

Copyright 2018 R. J. Davnall

Smashwords Edition License Notes:

This ebook may be copied, distributed, reposted, reprinted and shared, provided it appears in its entirety without alteration, and the reader is not charged to access it.

Content warning: This story contains first-person descriptions of panic attacks which some readers may find difficult.

With special thanks to everyone who helped me get through the experiences I wrote this thing about, especially those who might recognise themselves in the characters.

Contents

@lien

About the Author

@lien

A squawking phone wrenches me out of sleep. I scrabble for it before it can wake the downstairs neighbours. My fingers fumble while my heart pounds and the moment drags.

The sound stops of its own accord; an incoming message alert, not my alarm going off. So much for a lie-in. I flop back into my flat, lifeless pillow and stare up at the ceiling while the ice melts out of my veins. With it goes any will to get up. The daylight through my inadequate curtains is a tiny bit less grey than yesterday, though too many mornings like this have taught me that doesn't mean it's sunny out.

Blindly, I reach over and pick up the phone, my hand steadier now I've had a chance to breathe. I unlock it by reflex; when I look at the screen, it takes me ten seconds of blinking to make out anything besides colours.

Wake up, sleepy-head/The day holds much excitement/Check the internet!

Verity. Well, my week's holiday doesn't mean she'll stop throwing haiku at me from her office every time her supervisor's back is turned. I rub my forehead, put the phone down and roll over. I don't want to give her the satisfaction of knowing she woke me up.

It's not like her to be so cruel. She picks on me all the time, sure, about shyness, about being wishy-washy, about not getting out enough, but she knew how much I needed this break. Why wake me at... what time is it? Barely eight, by the phone. Why wake me now with something as banal as 'the internet is exciting'?

That exclamation mark at the end of the message sticks with me. Maybe she's not just being mean, but what could be so important that she'd wake me up? It'll still be there in two hours. My head fills with nightmare visions - governments crumbling, economies collapsing, zombies on the march.

I groan. No use trying to sleep with all that in my head. If it's zombies, the best bet is to dash into town, get on the ferry and get off the mainland. I think there's a noon sailing. I'd even have time to pack a few things. On the other hand, if it's a tsunami or something, the sea's a bad plan. I can feel