Invaders — Cute

We never found their ship. We never found their leaders. Perhaps there were none.

The creature—barely the size of a tangerine—let out a noise that was not a roar, not a hiss, but a squeak . It was the sound a new sneaker makes on a gym floor, mixed with a kitten’s yawn. Then it wobbled forward on stubby, non-terrestrial legs, fell over, and looked up at her with an expression of utter, heart-melting confusion. Cute Invaders

“Okay,” she whispered. “Okay.” It’s been three years since the Cute Invasion. Humanity still exists, but it’s different now. We work less. We sleep more. We spend afternoons lying in parks, watching Puffballs bounce like happy, weightless clouds. Cities have been reclaimed by moss and flowers, because no one has the heart to mow a lawn where a Puffball might be napping. We never found their ship

And we did.

It’s a small, soft, ridiculous thing that looks at you with eyes like galaxies and says, without words: The creature—barely the size of a tangerine—let out