Aliens Invade! Son's Melting Mind

We will not go into details here, but we will comfort the tenderhearted reader at this moment. Let us remember that we are dealing with fictional characters in the first place. But still, I have asked of you, as any author, to breathe life in these characters and treat them as if they are of flesh and blood. Therefore, even within this fictional universe, it might be good to know that Patrick did not suffer. He was unconscious before his body became minced into data for this strange breed of aliens so interested in humanity. The voice at least had had the decency to subdue him.

Let us then, finally, shortly dissect this story, just like Patrick's body was dissected to the higher purposes of this noble race of extraterrestrials. Its morale, I think, is clear. Treat your loved ones with the respect they deserve. Patrick is not a model you should strive after.

However, we must go farther than this. The story, it seems, also scrutinizes the hidden bond between mother and son, and it wonders what lies beyond conventions, what hidden swamp of desires exists between these family members. From an alien gaze, perhaps the need to repress these urges seems less strict, and if anything, can provide a liberation from the bonds that tie us now. I leave such pondering over the reader, and will not provide any more than suggestions into a perceived possible direction.

PART 7. Conclusions, finally

The voice entered in a soliloquy.

'Ah.' It began. 'How much I have learned today. That sir was right, mothers and sons do seem to want to mate on this planet. Perhaps pornography, then, can be a useful source to knowledge on this strange species after all. I must pay more attention to all those 'tubes' (I wonder whether they have something to do with our tubes, in which we keep our specimens?). I must also read up on erotic fiction, that is for sure.

Ah, how sorrowful the mother and son now ride away from that cabin, grieving the loss of their father and her husband. The memories implanted seem to do their work. They do believe that his father, her husband drowned, and the police is already under way. They will find nothing, but they will have no reason to doubt their story.

In her belly already grows, cell by cell, new life. A symbol of their desires. I am so curious how it develops. The chips implanted in her tummy will register carefully how it grows. And the camera implanted in his eyes will allows us track how their love grows. We shall see everything.

I wonder, though, how they will love. Despite what the sir told us, there seems to rest a restriction on mother loving son. But their desires are unmistakable, all our data prove their intensity. He will soon have broken up with his relation, which he called 'Hannah'. There is no doubt.

This desire for his mother is a useful force, perhaps the strongest we have encountered so far in this weird species of humans. It is not just him who has it, we are certain. Are perhaps all juveniles infused with this lust? It is so powerful. It is stronger than hate. Stronger than jealousy. Yes, he would move mountains to mate his mother again.

Perhaps this, then, is the key to our control over these species. To use this forbidden desire and bring it to the fore everywhere. To channel the work and energy of all men on this planet in promise of its fulfillment in mating their mothers.

Our experiments must continue. But so far, we are glad, very glad.

Ah, they are already stopping the car. Pulling it over. Ah, they are already over each other again. What an energy! What an uncontrollable force! Yes, yes, this is beautiful.'

Here we must also depart from the voice, which, for the time being, left Earth. He had enough data to ponder over, and even more data would stream in. Let us follow his example, and again hold this little planet of ours in our hands as if it were a tennis ball.

Squeeze it.

What is its weight? Almost nothing.

What is it size? I could throw it away in the pitch black universe and hear of it no more.

Who cares? Ah, we care.

We care because we live on this planet, of course. But holding it at arm's length, as we are doing now, how insignificant are those constraints we put on ourselves? The laws that bind us, the conventions that tell us to do this and not do that? We go through each day more like prisoners than children who joyfully trust in whatever their desires tell them.

Don't you agree, dear reader?

The question that I will leave the reader with is how we would find Earth if the plans of the voice would succeed.

Now, I will ask the reader, as a final gift to me, to imagine an Earth where men would be mating their mothers everywhere, trading all their labor and productivity for nights with the women who birthed them. They would be serving higher powers in the chase of their inner drives. They would be delivering their strength to some unimaginable goal, while remaining in utmost bliss.

So, reader, here is the question that remains. And I want you to ponder this over holding the Earth at arm's length, not as a person carrying the burden of tradition and law and order. Would it be an Earth diminished, reduced, humiliated, or would it, perhaps, be utopia?