It was a grey and dreary day when I first saw Dave. I’ll be honest now and tell you that his name probably isn’t Dave, but that’s what I call him. You see, I’ve never actually spoken to him.

Dave was an alien, still getting to grips with being stranded on earth. I have no idea how he got here, but I imagine he doesn’t either. He probably just woke up, naked, in a field one morning.

There was no way that a normal human being could ride a bike the way he was. It was like he’d never seen one before and was using it for the first time, trying desperately to fit in.

The bike itself was too small for his long, thin frame. He wouldn’t have looked out of place on a basketball court.

And that was what humoured me. The sight of this being, from another planet, trying to act normal. Riding an under-sized bike, knees stuck out to the sides, head tucked in low to the handlebars, tongue sticking out in concentration, wobbling down the busy street, trying to avoid pot-holes whilst being soaked to the core from the rain.

I shouldn’t have laughed. It was, after all, a valiant effort, for an alien named Dave.

The second time I saw Dave, was in the same place, not 24 hours later. He had mastered the art of cycling and you could almost be forgiven for thinking him a human. But I knew better.

I started to wonder what he might do next, if he could learn to ride a bike so quickly, so confidently.

I couldn’t stop thinking about him for the rest of that day. That night, I hardly slept at all. What was Dave up to? Was he really here by accident? If not, what was his plan? Aliens feed on human flesh, right? How many people had he already consumed? I had to do something, for the good of mankind.

I’m not much of a fighter, on the best of days, and against a flesh eating alien I’d stand no chance. But I had one advantage – he didn’t know I was on to him.

The next morning, bleery eyed from lack of sleep I drove to work. Sure enough, there he was, confidently, no, cockily riding his bike, with no handlebars, down the road with a big grin on his face.

He never saw me coming, as I swerved my van into his path sending him flying over the top of my van, like a less graceful Eliott, with ET in his basket, only ET was riding the bike and not so much flying, more falling.

I barely looked back in my mirror, as I sped away.

I never saw Dave again after that.

Author: The Homegrown forager

Wiltshire, UK based. I live with my wife & daughter, dog, lovebird and chickens.

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