'Alien wants Ice Cream' by Annie Banerjee

Out here in West Texas, where the Chisos mountains roar at night, well, sometimes they bark, but roars are more audible for an old biddy like me, a great big ball of fire circled over our head. Like a Chinese balloon, it loomed burning like a crown, sizzling, throwing sparks, and then it circled and circled and rose up. That is when that guy, very handsome with big brown eyes and pecs that look like gold bars, appeared on my porch asking for ice cream and pointing to the toaster. “I got no ice cream maker, kiddo,” I said.

And he said, “But I heard ice cream is good. Vanilla Ice,” he said.

“The music group?” I ask. 

“What is music?” he said, and I just looked and looked until he disappeared, and although Sherrif Taylor said I was hallucinating, I know what I saw.