The Healing Breath of Alpacas

Reading Time: 4 minutes

Karen stumbled out of the US Army helicopter in Washington DC, her cotton sundress snapping like a paisley flag. She balanced her two-year-old son on one hip, staring out at the sea of people gathered beneath a monstrous, purple spaceship the size of Cleveland.

Seeing the alien ships on Instagram had been unsettling… but nothing could’ve captured their domineering size. Like what a baby must feel, looking up at their parent. Were they here to punish humanity? And why on earth had she been summoned?

Army soldiers forced open a path through the throng. Following them, Karen approached a raised stage. A Secret Service agent in dark glasses leaned close and said, “The president and her advisors will feed you answers. Say only what they tell you. God knows why the alien wanted a midwestern housewife to speak for the entire United States—but they requested you by social security number.”

Image courtesy of Sykes Holiday Cottage via Openverse.

The agent took Karen’s son away and ushered her onto the dais. At its center stood an alpaca the size of a tank. A cloud of purple particles draped its fluffy shoulders like judicial robes. On a podium next to the animal sat a transparent cube displaying video feeds of alpacas speaking to the citizens of other countries.

The aliens are… alpacas?

The president of the United States stood off to one side of the stage. In a deathly serious tone, she said, “Karen, it’s incredibly important that you—”

The alpaca-alien made a curt gesture with its foreleg. A blue dome solidified around Karen and the creature, reducing the outside world to a veil of crackling static. Tendrils of ozone drifted off the barrier bearing the tangy scent of lightning.

“Good,” the alpaca-alien said in a stately voice. “We can begin.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Consider us galactic law enforcement. Your species is on trial. We asked for a quintessentially average member of your country to serve as its representative. That’s you.”

Karen patted her shoulder-length brown hair. “Am I really that average?”

“Quite. Now, are you aware of the damage incurred to this planet’s ecosystem in the last century?”

“I think so. No more rainforests. The poor polar bears all died.”

“And are you aware of the role humanity played in this destruction?”

Outside, fists thumped against the blue barrier. Muffled shouts.

“Uh…” Karen said. “Everyone knows about climate change. But I recycle, and at my house we have Vegan-Thursdays.”

“A serviceable admission of guilt. Now, while we can’t force your species to change, would you like to restore the environment yourselves?”

“Of course! But—”

“Contract established.” The alpaca-alien turned to its transparent cube, toes tapping icons with a rapid staccato rivaling a teenager’s texting thumbs. “My fellow judges all concur. That concludes this trial.”

“Wait, what do you mean trial?” Karen’s hand leaped to her chest, trying to cover a hollowed-out feeling. Had she made things worse? “What’s going to happen?”

“Remediation. Nothing too onerous—galactic law prohibits us from murder or the outright destruction of your culture. You’ll lose those pesky opposable thumbs for a few generations. We’re also rewiring your body to consume carbon dioxide and emit oxygen… that way you’ll be restoring the climate with your own lungs.”

“Rewiring?” She did not like the sound of that.

“Yes. You’ll wear the shape of your planet’s most morally elevated creature to serve as an example. The same one we adopted today to put you at ease.”

Wait… did that mean—

Karen gasped as the blue shell shattered.

Outside, pandemonium erupted. Purple particles rained from the spaceship. Luminous sparkles, flowing through the sky like flocks of starlings. As the colorful clouds overtook the crowd, fleeing people froze in place.

Karen dove for her son. Inches away, she jerked to a stop with her arms outstretched. The air around her solidified, hard as stone. Her heart hammered. Numb tingling replaced all feeling in Karen’s body. Her mind fell quiet. Stifled calm, like a hooded bird.

The crowd’s screams drifted into silence. Purple hoops formed around everyone like ovals artists used to draw animals. Scaffolding, refining to four-legged outlines. Human bodies unraveled into strips of skin, muscle, and nerve that wound over the guiding forms. Flesh grew to fill the gaps. New skin sprouted ubiquitous, springy hair.

Just like that, every human in the crowd was transformed into an alpaca.

The galactic judge patted the President of the United States on her new fluffy, gray head. Then, in a swirl of purple robes, the alien soared up to its spaceship.

“Mom?” a baby alpaca cried, inches from Karen’s outstretched forelegs. The little animal looked up at her with big, brown eyes.

Karen sucked in a breath of air that tasted like carbonated water. Kneeling, she cradled her son between her furry legs, repeating, “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

“You!” The alpaca-president pointed her forefoot at Karen. “What the hell did you say to it? Take her into custody!”

Karen stepped in front of her son, who peeked around her bushy leg. Somehow, her sundress had survived the transformation. She smoothed it with her fetlock and said, “I told the truth.”

“Madam President?” The alpaca-agent with dark sunglasses stood on his hind legs, fumbling with his handcuffs. They slipped through his forefeet and dropped to the stage.

The alpaca-president sighed. “I suppose our agents will need to carry bridles, now…”

Above them, the purple spaceship rose out of the atmosphere, vanishing with a crack that echoed over the herd of erstwhile humans.

“Tell me everything that transpired,” the alpaca-president said.

Karen carefully repeated the exchange.

The alpaca-president listened—interrupting now and then to issue orders for securing hay supplies and organizing an evacuation into the grasslands. Finally, she said, “I don’t think you understand the consequences of your negligent actions.”

“You’re blaming me for this?” Karen spat on the stage. “I guess we’re still human, no matter our shape.”

Her son nuzzled her with his fluffy head.

Karen hummed softly, and said, “At least the planet gets to rest while we’re in time-out.”

 

This story previously appeared in Peculiar Pets.
Edited by E. S. Foster

Brandon Case is a golden retriever who writes of unsettling worlds. He has recent work in Escape Pod, Flash Fiction Online, and Small Wonders, among others. You can catch his alpine adventures on Twitter and Instagram @BrandonCase101 or connect at www.brandoncase.net.