On September 12, 2005 most people saw an old man and an 11-year-old girl come and talk. No one thought that was odd. They had known each other for quite some time. Then the old man died of a heart attack. No one thought that was odd either. Old men die from heart attacks all the time.

No one knew what really had happened. The old man, Mr. Jones, and the girl Julia met. Mr. Jones said, "Julia, I need to tell you something." "What Mr. Jones? Do you need more help with your garden?" she asked not suspecting a thing.

"No. Something more important," a cold, discordant voice said in her head. It came from Mr. Jones though. "Do not scream or bring attention to us. It will only be worse for you."

"What do you want?" Julia asked inside her head.

"I want what I have wanted ever since I landed on Earth 1000 years ago. I am a parasite. I feed off people's brains. Unfortunately, your species' brains only last five years before they become wasted. It is such a shame. The young ones though, they are the ones which we should go after. Five years ago I became Mr. Jones. I made a mistake and went into the wrong person. Now I shall correct my mistake. I need a new host. Congratulations, Julia, I have chosen you."

Julia wanted to run but she was transfixed staring into the eyes of Mr. Jones. All the life had left them and she felt something cold on her brain. "What will happen to Mr. Jones?" She asked.

"He shall die. It does not matter. All that matters is that I stay alive.

His brain is wasted. So now I shall have yours," the voice said. The voice sounded closer than ever like it was running up to her. She felt as if a thousand cold fingers grabbing, reaching, and infesting her brain. Mr. Jones started to teeter. She could feel this revolting creature in her brain. She tried to scream, but no words came out.

Mr. Jones fell to the ground. The parasite had left no evidence of itself and made it appear as if Mr. Jones had had heart failure. Julia screamed, "Help! Help Mr. Jones!" Those were the last words Julia ever said as the parasite became her.

Now how could I have found out about this you say? That is very easy. I am 'Julia'. Why would I bother to tell you this story? I need a new host.




Slouching in my chair while tapping my fingers impatiently on the table, I studied my mother as she sluggishly moved about the kitchen. She slowly filled the mug that I had made for her in art class with piping hot coffee. Steam billowed over the sides and the vanilla aroma filled my nose. With coffee in one hand and the daily newspaper tucked under her arm, she shuffled across the linoleum kitchen floor. She took a seat next to me and I observed her as she sipped her coffee and opened the newspaper.

My brother came charging down the stairs and drew my attention away from my mom. I watched in surprise as he stampeded into the kitchen with his dirty clothes in his hands and piled it all on mom. My mom jerked out of her chair and screamed for my father for assistance. I couldn't help but giggle when my father jogged into the scene and examined my perturbed mother and apologetic brother.

My mom had her hands high on her hips; she stared angrily at the coffee that she now wore on her robe. She mumbled something under her breath and crossed her eyes in frustration. My father called my brother over to the corner and told him that he could just dump dirty laundry on mother, but he had to put them in the clothes hamper. Again a giggle escaped from my lips. My father was a strong man, with bones of iron. I looked up to him because he showed an amazing amount of courage and self-discipline. Today my father looked handsome, he was wearing his uniform. Every well-respected Marine was presented with a uniform and badges, at least that is what my mother said when I would ask her about it.

My mother, who was complaining about the unwashed dishes, snapped me back into reality. She pointed her finger at my brother and said that she was sorry that she didn't have any robots to take care of the laundry and that she was sorry that she couldn't have the house cleaned as soon as it was dirtied up again. She talked on and on about how she desired to have a TV with every channel on it so my dad could relax when he came home from work, and that she wished that she could have the refrigerator stocked with food when I came home because I always cried about being hungry.

My mind went blank. I didn't want to hear about everything that my mother wanted, it was just too unnatural to have everything in the world under one roof. What would be the point of having everything, but not having motivation to get what you want out of life? I didn't care if our living room was too small or if the pool was too filthy to swim in. I enjoyed that fact that when I walked outside my neighbors would wave, and that their lawns were brown like my family's lawn. I liked my environment.

I was jolted back into the real world, not because of the sounds of my parents' voices or even my brother's, but by a loud roaring sound that was coming from outside. I jumped out of my seat and raced my brother, Ben, over to the bay window. I was astounded at what my eyes saw. I blinked several times, and even pinched my arm to make sure I wasn't dreaming or hallucinating something out of thin air. But this, this peculiar object on my front lawn did come out of thin air. I stared at it briefly when I saw a flashing light shine through the window. Blinded by the light, I turned away. I noticed that my father was half way out the door yelling and waving his arms at the intruders. I watched as his face turned bright red and his veins bulged from his forehead. I could hear my blood pounding in my ears.

Suddenly my world went blank. A flash of white light cleared away every object that was around me. I could see my brother and my mother kneeling beside me. In disbelief, I craned my head around trying to find my dad. Forcing my eyes open for one last time, my heart skipped a beat, I saw my father bent over on our lawn and tears were flowing down his cheeks. Then I blinked and I couldn't open my eyes again. That was the first time I saw my father cry, and the last time I will ever see him.

This story is a prologue to a short story by the same title that was printed in the October 2005 issue of Writing.

Written by Whitney-Marie S.