Postcard For Reader

Guest Post: Gary Ghislain

Gary Ghislain, author of How I Stole Johnny Depp's Alien Girlfriend swings by today with a guest post - or rather, a short story! Don't forget to enter the giveaway to win a copy of your own.

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The Boy who Stole Johnny Depp’s Alien Girlfriend Strikes Back
Right. My name is David. I’m 15 years old. I have a tattoo on my left arm that proves that my girlfriend is from outer space and that I’m the key to another world.
Otherwise, I’m quite an ordinary guy.

The spacegirl’s name is Zelda and she came from a planet called Vahalal. She travelled across the universe and landed in Paris, France, to find her perfect boyfriend and ruin my life in the process.

Right now, she’s snoring gently in my bedroom closet, carefully hidden behind a pile of old T-shirts and a mountain of beloved converse shoes.

There are a few things you need to know about Zelda:
a. She’s gorgeous. Tall, thin, she has dark-blond hair and she’s covered with tribal tattoos that are not really tattoos but the full recordings of all her military achievements – mostly battles she won and people she murdered without even breaking a sweat.
b. She looks like 15, 16 max! But she’s 325 years old - that’s 325 years from her planet.
c. She will never age, which is good, because I will age and eventually one day, I might even get taller and stronger then her (I’m rather small for my age but I plan to become tall, strong and incredibly handsome as soon as I turn 16).
d. She’s rather violent and will never hesitate to annihilate whatever stands on her way, including the entire French police force, buildings, and other minor obstacles like tanks and people holding bazookas.
e. Everybody on her home planet is exactly like her. Destructive. Bad tempered. Armed, dangerous and good looking. Oh, and did I mention that Vahalal is a girl only planet?

Yeah, I thought I didn’t.

‘Are you going to stop turning, twisting, and moaning, Frog? I can’t sleep when you’re thinking of Zelda. Think of something else. Think of flowers. Think of this rosy girl you used to love. What was her name? Rossette-something?’
‘Rosemarie! And I didn’t love her.’

I forgot to mention: I have another agent of destruction sleeping beside me in my bedroom: Malou, my evil sort of half sister.

‘You’re always in love, Frog. That’s your problem. You’re a hopeless romantic. Just the opposite of me. I’m never in love. I’m always in for the sex.’

Malou’s 19 and she’s trouble. She’s been emancipated since she was 17. She hates her father. She hates my mother. Otherwise, she hates about 99.99% of the world population.

She says she loves me because she has a thing for total losers.

And she loves Zelda too, because Zelda can’t cross path with a policeman or any reasonable adult without immediately cracking their heads with a baton and sending them to the emergencies. Malou can’t think of anything more inspiring.
The day breaks suddenly. It’s beautiful and tragic. Beautiful because Zelda is hiding in my closet. Tragic because it’s the first day of school.

‘Frog?’
‘Mm?’

‘You know. After all that happened between you and Zelda and the way it’s been in the news and all that, you’re life is never going to be the same at Saint-Exup.' Malou means Saint-Exupery, my private high school for the privileged.
‘You think I’m going to be popular?’

I’ve never been popular. It would be so…

‘No, I mean they’re going to eat you alive, you’d be lucky if they leave bones,’ and ten seconds later, Malou snores and Mum knock on my door.

‘You’re not wearing this,’ Mum barks when I appear in the kitchen. ‘And stop coughing! It sounds so fake!’

Mum and Edouard, Malou’s father, believe that chain smoking and black coffee constitute a healthy breakfast.

A canary would die of asphyxia in that kitchen.

‘Did you even shower?’ She blows smoke all over my hair while trying to sniff it. ‘I don’t mind bringing up a deranged son, but I can’t cope with a neglected one,’ and then she looks at her watch and she forgets all about me having to shower or change my clothes: ‘Out out out!’ she screams. ‘I’m late!’

Mum’s always late. Which doesn’t really matter because she always screams, no matter what.

She grabs her coat. Run for the door like there’s a fire in her living room.

‘Aren’t I supposed to get breakfast before school?’ I ask.

‘Oh don’t be so fussy!’ she searches her purse, jams 20 Euros in my hand. That’s supposed to cover breakfast, lunch and maternal love.

And then she puts on her coat, and… three, two, one… GO: It’s a race toward her car.

I mean, Mum’s a real rocket when she’s fuelled on nicotine and caffeine.

‘Hurry up! Get in the car!’

I get in her brand new Mercedes coupe. I close the door. I make a face like my ulcer medicine is not working anymore.

‘What!?’
‘School’s going to be trouble… after…’
‘After what!?’
‘Zelda.’

Mum’s face gets all twisted. She always gets furious whenever I mention Zelda’s name.

Nobody beside Malou and I believe Zelda’s really from outer space. For Mum, she was just a crazy girl who totally messed up our ordinary life and then disappeared.
‘I told you, I don’t want to ever hear that name again.’ She’s about to bark and bite more, but some rarefied motherly instinct suddenly surfaces. She breathes in, breathes out, yoga style. She must be mentally repeating one of her favourite mantras: don’t kill him, he’s your son after all.

‘David! Burning petrol station. Destroying buildings. Sending cops to the hospital and kidnapping celebrities, those are all SUMMER ACTIVITIES. Wake up. Summer’s gone: back to school!’

I’m glad we had this conversation.