Mysterious Floating Objects
Hi, here's a story inspired by social distancing.
Churro’s job was done with the current tree and he strained at his leash, impatient to mark the next one as his as well. His tail wagged crazily, oblivious to the bitter cold.
“Hang on, buddy,” Mark said. He realized earlier that day that his normal communication to his corgi - “sit,” “stay,” “good boy” - had expanded into near-soliloquy territory, and he needed to get out.
Under government orders, neither of them had ventured out for the past two weeks beyond 10 minutes of tight circles around their apartment building. They spent a lot of their time on the couch watching cable news, absorbing information about the mysterious floating objects. The glowing spheres that dotted the international skies had first appeared three weeks ago, disappearing before anyone was able to pin down their origin or reason. They’d blink back into existence a few seconds later, somewhere unpredictable but always a bit closer to the planet’s surface. At their rate of descent, the first ones would land any day now.
Mark figured he’d take one last walk before all hell broke loose. Or maybe it won’t. Maybe the world was hunkered down and holding its breath for nothing.
Churro wanted to run down the sidewalk, and the two of them compromised on a brisk trot. York Street, which used to be part of Mark’s daily commute, had transformed into an unfamiliar ghost town. All the restaurants were dark, some with handwritten signs taped to their front doors promising to reopen by March, others less optimistic. Starbird, where Mark often picked up fried chicken on his way home from work, had erased its blackboard message boasting that it had been open for lunch dinner every day for the past 30 years. He wondered what message could fill the black space once this was all over. Everything was washed in a faint glow from the globes that hung like question marks. Mark looked up when a new one appeared and all the shadows on the streets shifted in response.
“Churro, no!” He yanked his corgi along when he turned away from the sky and saw the dog start to lift his hind leg beside the signage. Churro set his paw back down and followed, shooting a petulant look back.
The shops that held more valuable inventory - clothing boutiques, furniture stores, Lapin, which featured jewelry and knick knacks from a rotation of local artists - were boarded up, braced for a wave of crime. A lot of the boards were covered by fresh graffiti, but the artists were nowhere to be seen. The sizable homeless population that normally wandered this street had been swept into hotels that weren’t being used anyway, since travel was paused indefinitely. They passed a few tents, but Mark couldn’t tell if they were still occupied.
They hadn’t encountered another soul in the fifteen minutes since they’d stepped out. The only other signs of life were a few trucks on their way to stock grocery stores, keeping the bare bones of society standing.
“Ready to head back?”
Churro was not ready to head back. He was insistent on checking out the source of a scent coming from the next intersection, York and 7th. Knowing his dog, it was probably an abandoned Chipotle bowl, but it wasn’t like he was pressed for time.
A snout appeared around the corner as they got closer, and Churro quickened his pace. The snout’s owner was just as eager to meet Churro. The dog had a collar, but no leash or owner. Was it a dog? It was like no dog Mark had ever seen. It had a delicate, fox-like face, creamy fur striped with earl grey, and a long torso ending in a bushy tail.
The animals sniffed each other’s butts in greeting, then continued circling each other excitedly. When Churro barked an invitation to play, his new friend responded with a rumbling sound.
Mark looked down 7th Avenue, where the creature had come from, and saw that a globe had landed, its perfectly round bulk filling the next intersection over. A figure too far away to make out stepped out from a small opening on the globe’s side and paused, looking around for their pet.