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Roswell by Anglea

I don't like insects. Nor mammals. Or birds. Especially I don't like humans. Or inanimate obects. Everyone thinks I'm weird. And so I am.

As one of the few survivors from the Roswell crash, I am allowed to be different. My brain is no longer functioning and I've forgotten my mission on Earth.

I can eat, talk, eliminate although most of the time I have no idea what I am doing.

Doctor Rushton say's that he thinks I'm far more superior than any politician he's met. He's a little quirky as I suppose you know.

Tomorrow we're going on a picnic, a group of us odditites, there is Sam, the one eyed tiger/cross human, the result of a secret experiment gone wrong, a few yeti's called Bill and Ben and Sanja, the three headed woman. We are travelling by van with blacked out windows to make sure we don't scare anyone.

I quite like this life.

What about you?

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Eh, toss this story
6:10

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