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The great room of the castle was well-lit by the fire the roared at the far ends of the room, as well as the numerous candles set in sconces upon the stone walls. Tapestries hung between the sconces, depicting hunting scenes, wedding scenes, feasts, and great battles. Straw — rushes? — adorned the floor. To the left, what was clearly the dining area. A large trestle table sat before the fireplace, surrounded by more chairs than I had time to count. The other end of the room, also with a fireplace, looked to be a sitting area, although with the most uncomfortable-looking furniture I’d ever seen in my life.
.”Maida,” Eirnan called as he strode to the table. “Food, Maida. I discovered a foundling out in the weather. She’ll need proper clothing, too.” He used his foot to drag a chair out from the table, then sat me in it with little ceremony or care.
His friends ranged themselves behind him, taking up serious stances. I’ll admit, hard as it is seeing I’m a 21st century empowered woman, that I was quite intimidated. “I don’t mean to be any trouble,” I offered, confused at what exactly Eirnan expected from me. From the way he held himself now, along with his howling for service, I figured him to be the lord of the manor, as it were, and quite at ease with his authority.
“Where are you from, Riley MacCormack? What brings you here?” Eirnan waved his hand in a vague circle, near his head.
“I went out for a walk.” True enough. When fabricating, keep as close to the truth as possible. I mean, I wasn’t about to tell him I thought I’d somehow slipped through time. I had no idea what century this was, but it looked Medieval. Possibly earlier.
“At night? Without an escort? Ya think me daft then?”
“I think nothing of the sort, since I’ve never met you before. I couldn’t say if you’re daft or not, seeing as I know nothing about you.” Who knew how long I’d be here. I couldn’t afford to alienate this man.
He drew out a chair next to mine, sitting heavily. “Ya think I don’t know there’s a time slip on my cliff? I’ll repeat myself once, and not again. Where are you from?”
Well. that certainly put a different face on the subject, didn’t it? “The year 2015, from a country called the United States of America. It’s across the Atlantic Ocean. When am I here?”
“1294. Visiting my home in your own time, were you?”
“Yes.” Having never time-traveled before, I didn’t know what the rules were. Surely there were rules, right? I couldn’t tell him his home lay in ruins. I just couldn’t.
He stared hard at me. Silence reigned until a woman came in through a door I hadn’t noticed before. She carried a tray piled high with food-laden dishware. “A visitor, ya say? Needing proper clothing? Have you found a way through, then to collect our missing?”
* * * * * *
It’s your typical mid-week day here on Planet Earth when the aliens arrive. There’s nothing remarkable, nothing out of the ordinary, that would presage the arrival of the alien UFOs that park over all the big cities of the world, including, of course, New York City. Everyone knows that when the aliens arrive, they’ll head to Manhattan. It’s probably a law. And predictably, the aliens turn out to be evil invaders, intent on the Earth’s destruction. Because, are there any other kind of aliens?
Meet Angie Gibson, our plucky heroine who harbors a guilty a love for alien invasion and/or disaster movies. The sillier the movie, the better. She conveniently finds her best friend, Lacey Bevins, as they flee the Manhattan office building where they work, and together, they join forces with Hale and Nelson when Angie inconveniently breaks her ankle during the stampeding exodus from Lower Manhattan. Together the foursome, against all logic, flee Lower Manhattan for Upper Manhattan, hiding in odd places, rescue some abandoned children, and race towards their salvation, the George Washington Bridge. Oh. And they fight some aliens. Oh, oh! And have desperate sex, because who wouldn’t when the world is being destroyed by evil, invading aliens and you don’t know if you’ll live to see tomorrow?
Join Angie, Hale, Lacey and Nelson for a silly adventure that couldn’t possibly happen in real life.
Right?
I mean, this really couldn’t happen in real life.
Writing For My Sanity 
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