Alien: Jonesy's Tale

Disclaimer:

1: Haven't written anything since school. 2: Don't really like cats. 3: Haven't seen Alien for years so chronology may be off.

You don't have to be gentle. I know it's not good. But it filled an evening that would otherwise have been spent doing nothing.

Ok. Here we go...

Chapter 1: Hungry

Awake. Hungry. No famished! This was the waking he didn't like, it seemed rushed - almost artificial.

After a yawn, a stretch and looking around hungrily with a natural inquisitive nature, he saw the humans were also stirring.

"Why does it take the tall ones so bloody long to get up? Don't see us felines lying about for minutes after waking, there is shit to do!".

His stomach made a subtle rumbling as he watched the tall ones, who he had heard referred to as humans, stirring. Fascinated, he watched a human as it slowly emerged from one of the boxes they had all traveled in.

This one was different. No there were two of them. Strange formations were adorned to the front of their upper torso, yet despite the extra weight they appeared to be more slender. Assuming they were genetic mutations or birth defects he dubbed them Lumpys.

One of the humans was significantly darker in color to the others. He had seen this before; his mother, or it could have been an aunt, had been different in color to him. For this reason the difference made no difference and the coloured human was categorised with the remaining Flats.

He remembered this hunger from his early days. A mere kitten, born last of a litter of seven. He was sickly, but his mother persevered. With the assistance of two aunts, who acted as backup and provided feeding surrogacy. This was the reason he often confused parental roles between surrogates and actual parental nomination.

He realised his mind was wandering and gave himself a shake. Deciding it was time to get himself sustenance, he wandered jovially over to one of the Lumpy humans and rubbed against it's leg. Initially Ignored, he rubbed again, this time making the noise the humans respond to most frequently.

The lumpy looked down, saw him and said, "Jonesy! There you are!". And stroked down his spine.

"Why the hell do they persist in calling me Jonesy", the cat mused, "I'm not a Jonesy, I'm a cat".

He let it slide. After all, it was more than likely just a symptom of tiredness or possibly a side effect of the mutation the Lumpys suffer.

The humans congregated and discussed things that the cat had no interest in. If it wasn't food, he didn't care. Skirting the group, he explored. Lots of metal, grills and heavy doors - he was in the flying box again. He could sense the great nothing outside and knew they were in the empty place. Flying in a box in the empty place with an empty stomach.

"Jesus christ...", his head dropped a little.

After what seemed like an eternity the Lumpy upon which the cat had rubbed separated itself from the group and layed down a bowl. The cat was amused by the fact that she felt the compulsion to hit the metallic bowl with a spoon before putting it down.

"Humans and their silly musical rituals", he thought to himself.

Knowing he was in the big flying box, the cat knew what to expect. Being a cynic and going into each meal with low expectations meant he was rarely disappointed. He knew while in the flying box there was only provisions for dark slop, which he drank more than ate. With a sigh, he waited.

What is this? The slop, yes. But topped with...with flesh. Little square pieces of flesh! The cat began purring, instinctively and without realising, and quickly stopping himself. He took a large square of...wait, this isn't flesh, it tastes of nothing.

"Even the flesh is disappointing in the flying box", he deflatedly thought.

After eating the contents of the bowl, with little or no joy, purely for the required nutrition - he decided to have a sleep.

He dreamed. Dreamed strange dreams. Foreboding, dark, terrifying dreams. This was not usually the case, something was different. The cat's ears flicked as the humans were gathered round a square thing that was making noises. Even asleep he could sense the pending danger. But he slept on.

Chapter 2: Woken

Commotion! Rabble! Raised voices and angry words.

"The hell is this, now?", the cat thought, "can't even get a decent nap around here!".

There appeared to be an argument unraveling. Awake now, and with nothing better to do whilst trapped in the flying box, the cat approached the scene.

It was the window door. One of the Lumpys was saying she didn't want to open the door, something had happened to one of the other humans. The little fat one, that the others called Ash, thought he knew best and made the window door open.

Now, the cat had seen a lot in its time. His mother, or maternal provider, once ate three of his younger brothers! But this, this was a first. One of the Flats had a thing on his face.

"What the hell is he doing wearing a mask at a time like this? He was just outside in the big empty. Seems a bit dangerous to me", as he was thinking this, he realised he was mistaken.

It was not a mask but a creature of some sort. A creature with long fingers or arms that had attached itself to the Flat. It had a long powerful tail that was round the human's neck. It looked dangerous.

The cat was perturbed, envious, even jealous of the new creature. It was boring, it had no soft orange fur, it had no glittering eyes. It wasn't even of interesting color. It was plain, sinewy and ugly. Not to mention it was making the humans rather loud. All except one.

"How can he sleep with that thing on his face, like that?", he pondered whilst trying to edge closer.

One of the humans, clearly very stressed, almost trod on him. Reflex saved his tail from what would otherwise have been incredibly painful.

"Not now Jonesy!", It was a skinny Flat, instantly despised for its harsh tone and attitude.

At this point he was starting to question his own sanity. Two things perplexed him; the first was why everyone liked this new animal so much, the second was if he was a cat! He decided, he was no longer a cat. He was a Jonesy and he was mad as hell.

Chapter 3: Surgery

Jonesy wasn't a stupid animal. He was the weakest of seven siblings, if he hadn't have been smart he wouldn't have made it this far. It was a constant battle for food back on the big blue ball. Back when the flesh tasted so much better.

Oh, the flesh. There were variations, too. Flakes of grey flesh, often referred to as "don't waste the tuna on that fucking animal", he loved "don't waste the tuna on that fucking animal". White flesh, Jonesy vaguely recalled was called chicken. So many variations and so many flavors.

Jonesy realised he was hungry again and forced himself to concentrate, the loud voices were leading him to the room with the funny bed on it. They put the Flat on it and started talking. He didn't listen to what they were saying and after a while he retreated to a corner behind some boxes and looked on.

One of the humans thought its sibling had slept for long enough. Jonesy agreed, it was hardly fair for one to sleep while the others were so busy! The animal that they all liked so much - this claw-like, boney, skinny creature - was clearly making the human lazy. If there is one thing that he understood, it was laziness in the big empty was unacceptable.

"Why are they just looking at it?", Jonesy wondered, "surely they should...don't waste the tuna on that fucking animal...dammit! I'm starving. Surely they should just poke it? Oh, here we go..."

The human started trying to cut off the animal's leg, "that's a bit harsh", Jonesy secretly smiled as he battled between logic, hunger, envy and growing hatred.

"Fuck me!", internally exclaiming the cat backed further into the corner as a splash of the new animal's juice came out and splashed to the floor. Everyone was running about shouting and the floor was disappearing, with acrid smoke rising from the hole.

Chapter 4: Revenge

Jonesy couldn't get comfortable behind the box and his intestinal tract was yelling at him to eat. Though he prefered being fed he knew, at times like this, he'd have to do it the hard way.

He left the room with the bed, allowing a disdainful glance at his nemesis, and went in search of the little furry things.

The humans didn't like the furry things to be on the box, they lay traps for them, use poisons and sometimes flood sections of the flying box with gasses. They think the furry things are dirty, but they are delicious!

The cat was motionless in a corner. Nothing moving, not even a whisker. He knew where the humans missed. On a box this size, they can't get everywhere and he can smell where they have missed. Movement! Jonesy's left ear adjusted with minute accuracy. Again, movement. A furry thing!

Muscles tense, he waited. The rat scuttled forward. Still he waited. The rat stopped, sniffed the air and uttered a faint squeak - not realising it'd be almost the last conscious act it carried out.

Jonesy pounced. Sharp claws grasping the now defenseless creature. Puncturing the skin. The rat struggled, but it was futile, it was over. Jonesy lowered his head and sharp teeth sink deep into the rat's head, sheering it's skull as if paper. One last half-squeak and the helpless rat accepted the inevitable.

The meal was small but it gave Jonesy energy. He thought he'd explore the area. There wasn't much to see, everything looked the same on these big flying boxes. Metal, containers, chains, everything was standardised. Square. No color, no texture, just metallic.

After a while he felt nature calling. Now he knew urination was frowned upon unless it was in the tray with rocks, or on the neighbour's lawn, so a sudden guilt fuelled panic came over him. He found a dark corner, relieved himself of the slop and square flesh and of the water he had supped from a dripping faucet - and walked away trying to pretend to himself he hadn't done so.

A noise. A clatter. Then almost crab like footfalls. A scuttling and scampering. Silence. Jonesy stood fast. Absolutely still. Barely breathing, he listened intently. This was no furry thing.

A thump, up high. Whatever it was; it was behind him. On top of a metal cabinet.

With ears adjusted, Jonesy could hear the thing, it had stopped and no longer scuttled, its movements were sluggish. He turned and faced the source of his worry. It was the creature! It was his nemesis! That terrible thing that stole all of his attention.

It fell off the cabinet, directly onto the area he had relieved himself. It lay, flapping uselessly and then was still. Little did Jonesy know that this was perfectly natural, blinded by the green eyed monster of jealousy he claimed the demise as revenge. Death by waste.

He slept.

Chapter 5: Mayhem

Stirring, he had the same feeling as after his first meal; an almost instinctual doom fraught foreboding. Something wasn't right; he wasn't dreaming this time, and something was here. Something he didn't like. Footsteps, definite footsteps. What was the problem then? It was just a human.

All became clear. The skinny Flat human. The one that had shouted at him in front of the door with the window. The one who almost stepped on him.

"Bastard!", He thought, "if I could actually speak I'd bloody well tell it so too!"

"Jonesey, Jonesey", it was calling.

The human saw Jonesey and tried to assure him that he would not be hurt but Jonesey had made up his mind. He didn't like this human. Not one bit. He backed away between neatly placed storage crates.

The rude human kept beckoning and saying his name.

"Jonesey, Jonesey".

All Jonesey could do was hiss violently in the face of the skinny human. The rude, loud, obnoxious skinny human. He took the deepest breath he could muster and let out a furious hiss!

Then from the periphery of his vision. There was movement. Something huge, black and menacing was descending on the Flat human. The beast grabbed it by the head and then, with slavering inner jaws, punched a hole through the dangling human's skull. The soon to be silenced human was crying out, screaming for help and bleeding profusely. Jonesey thought of karma, and purred ever so slightly - this time not forcing himself to stop.

The human's cries of protest were cut short and Jonesey emerged slowly from between the crates he had used as refuge from the skinny one. He surveyed the carnage and saw brain fragments and gore splattered on the floor.

"Eventually", his heart fluttered, "a decent meal".

------=END=------

Take it easy folks!

RX