Ziva dropped to the chair, head throbbing, stomach-churning, it had been a crazy night some parts of which she questioned as to what had happened. Meeting up with her girlfriends on Friday nights for post-work drinks had become the routine. Last night Ziva strained her thoughts, how had she got into bed?
Opening the front door blurred sights and sounds mixed with a focused beam of light emitting from the sky, Ziva floated, her body raised to the sky. Blinded, disoriented; other senses failed to make the experience cohesive. Voices echoed, close, quiet conversation in a language she should have understood; instead, the words themselves sounded alien.
Pins and needles danced on her body, Ziva checked herself for signs of the intravenous drips or were other areas of her body probed, investigated for study. She ran to the toilet regretting drinking shots, Ayaka convinced her it was a good idea. Ziva would have thought swimming to Brindleton Bay lighthouse a good idea after a bottle of wine. Pushing back, Ziva leaning against the tiled wall, perhaps this was a joke, her alcohol-infused brain creating amused strangers in harden suits, equipped with liquid emerald lights.
Patches remained oblivious, pretending to have slept through Ziva’s toilet visit, except evidence shown in the missing bites of breakfast. Ziva scratched the offered stomach, warm, furry full of food and purrs; if cats could talk, maybe Patches could let her know it was all a crazy dream. Shaking this feeling would take time. Ziva refused to surrender to the lunacy of an Alien abduction.
Putting the experience or dream aside; Ziva wrestled with normality and a hangover which disagreed with her breakfast for the second time. If Saturday is on the sofa, curled with Patches and an old movie, Sunday needed to hold some excitement. A three-hour train journey, San Myshuno hosted the best flea market, money tight, Ziva knew it would be lunch and haggling for a trinket for her niece. Ayaka met her whilst looking for some pieces to brighten her apartment, Ziva bartered with the vendors, meaning their food, came with a nifty reduction.
The burrito slid down a treat, Ziva pondered her dream, the parts that she could remember, her friend teasing how the Aliens preferred it that way. Rumours circulated online, the probing investigation into human anatomy and men who returned impregnated with green, purple or blue offspring, all starting with beams of light and shadowy theatre figures hoping you would sleep through the debacle. They erupted in laughter, Ziva’s suggestion her brother would love that idea, as for her own, dreams were the nonsensical way to deal with her waking life, a reminder she was alone.
Ayaka hired a basketball, challenging Ziva to shoot hoops. Her friend rocked her forties, her moves flowed across the court, Ziva wheezed minutes into the match, staggering to the bench. Knowing she had gained weight and embarrassed by the sniggering onlookers, she desperately wanted to leave on the train home. She had good intentions, Ziva had started running, the sea air opened her lungs, giving her energy. The recent effort was non-existent due to her busy work and social life, Ziva’s fitness was paying a heavy price. Taking Ayaka’s hand, the girls pressed on with the shots, Ziva missed the hoop, but she enjoyed the time, with Ayaka, in particular, catching her breath and listening to the busker and her guitar.
By the Grace of Sim Gods 