Vingon had been on earth for fourteen days. The abandoned farm he landed on was only a mile from the town; so far, no one bothered him. Ransacking the house, he had found fermented grape juice, which was now taking full effect. He read another label: “Shake Well then Refrigerate after Opening.”
He thought about it, slithered to the porch, and looked across the field. There was the open well that needed shaking. The ship’s gravitational beam should be adequate, he thought.
Moments later, the townspeople were covering their heads, and fleeing their homes, as the ground shook. They were nowhere near a fault line, nor a temperate zone, but that didn’t stop the snow that followed the earthquake.
The ship’s Thermos-Destabilizer should have sufficiently refrigerated the Well, Vingon thought. He looked up and let a white flake burn his middle tongue.
The townspeople were already considering a new holiday, to commemorate the rare events. A mile away, drunk on fermented juice, Vingon was now reading another label: “Cook Well before Consumption.”
He thought about it, slithered to the porch, and looked across the field. There was the open well that needed shaking. The ship’s gravitational beam should be adequate, he thought.
Moments later, the townspeople were covering their heads, and fleeing their homes, as the ground shook. They were nowhere near a fault line, nor a temperate zone, but that didn’t stop the snow that followed the earthquake.
The ship’s Thermos-Destabilizer should have sufficiently refrigerated the Well, Vingon thought. He looked up and let a white flake burn his middle tongue.
The townspeople were already considering a new holiday, to commemorate the rare events. A mile away, drunk on fermented juice, Vingon was now reading another label: “Cook Well before Consumption.”
