Roswell, by Michael David Raso

We never got to share our stories. We crash-landed on earth in 1947, looking for a place to emigrate. To say we were not welcome would be an understatement. In fact, they shot down our craft. We didn’t crash. We were shot down like you shoot down a UFO in that Nintendo game. I can still hear the sounds of that game, how it contrasts with the reality of the sounds of my vehicle, as all the systems died. Hoping to spread our stories and culture, but no, I am trapped, cut open, sewn shut again, a permanent experiment.