Dark eyes were filling up at every thought that continued to evoke emotions in her. Glistening potently with melancholy.
She tried to contain them, but for how long. The tension in her throat grew weight with discomfort. She’d been drinking, not intoxicated completely. The truth is, she’d been removed from the face of this earth 19 years ago. Abducted by sleep-inducing fumes, solidified within a jelly-like translucent cocoon.
Even when she was mentally conscious she was able to sense and understand, or even hear what was happening to her. Injected with unknown substances. Experimented. She would hear the loud, throbbing motion of her heart pounding from it. She’d felt or engraved within her mind that she wouldn’t make it out of there alive. But she did.
She escaped. Or rather the substance that mutated her DNA, caused her to inherit abilities. Being able to jump-teleport. Telepathy. Surprisingly, the substance was supposed to mutate her, her physical self. But, despite inheriting such abilities. Her body seemed immune.
The world was as if no human being had ever been born. Void with no existence. Except the large alien ship that cloaked itself invisible in the sky. The waist-height pods were still here.
Here she was back on earth. Dahlia at 36 years of age. Sulking. Angry with rage. Overwhelmed. There was something quite emotionally troubling. The once shy, wallflower, and suddenly a free-spirited buzz of energy at 18, had lost out on years.
She inhaled slowly and deeply. Trying to hold herself together. Dahlia wasn’t frightened anymore. Any frenzied panic was completely eased from within her. Probably weeping for some moment made sense, felt right. She wanted to release herself and the burdened pressure that almost was consuming her from within.
After which, Dahlia stared at the pod that stood motionless, her eyes almost squashed together. Enforcing mental telepathy. She’d practiced enough to know what she was destructively capable of. She was able to block her natural instincts or feelings.
The pod failed to read her vital signs, they weren’t human readings. Something far similar to the inflated balloon head entities. When the pod submitted and grew free-she sensed, with her teleport ability she hopped right into it. She knew that the pod was possibly the way for her to teleport back.
Dahlia had an idea. A very dangerous kind.
It was suicide.