Lights on Foss

It was sometime after 2 A.M. when I finally zipped up the door on my one-man tent, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle in. Despite the summer temperatures that had been brutally scorching, often creeping past 110 degrees, the night was surprisingly cool at Foss, Oklahoma. I felt a twinge of relief as the air kissed my skin, and the sky above looked like a surreal painting, riddled with stars that winked and shimmered as if privy to some cosmic secret. The soft murmur of the lake nearby drifted into my tent, lulling me into a rum-soaked slumber that I desperately needed.

This impromptu camping trip, orchestrated by my buddies Bruce and Lance, was exactly what my soul craved. There was something therapeutic about sitting under the stars, with nothing but the crackle of the campfire to punctuate our deep conversations about girls, life, and theology. We’d set up camp right by the water's edge—though, with the water levels so low, we technically pitched our tents where the lake usually sat during better seasons. Lance, my long-time friend from Colorado, had excitedly texted me about this spontaneous visit back to Oklahoma, and here he was, sprawled out on an army cot not far from me, likely snoring by now. Bruce, the third in our trio, had slung his hammock between two trees further back, suspended in what would normally be the bank of the lake. His occasional snore was the perfect lullaby as I started to drift off, my thoughts fading into the warmth of my sleeping bag.

It must have been hours later when I jolted awake. There was a sudden, massive splash, followed by an eerie flash of white light that filled my tent, then disappeared just as quickly. My heart hammered against my chest as I strained to make sense of what had just happened. But the darkness was thick, swallowing everything. I convinced myself it had to be a dream and forced my eyes shut, willing myself to slip back into that sweet oblivion.

And then I heard it again. Another splash, this time softer, followed by the unmistakable sound of heavy, wet footsteps trudging through the shallow water outside my tent. I froze. The rational part of my brain wanted to dismiss it as some drunk stumbling into our campsite. But then the eerie sensation crept in—what if it wasn’t? I strained to listen, the night’s silence amplifying every squelch and slosh, each footfall sending shivers down my spine.

“I come in peace.” The voice was soft, almost like a whisper threading through my thoughts, but I hadn’t actually heard it with my ears. It was inside my head.

I squeezed my eyes shut tighter. Was I dreaming? Hallucinating? Had the tequila finally broken my brain?

“It’s a little of both,” the voice responded, answering the question I hadn’t dared to ask aloud.

Are you in my head? I thought, tentatively reaching out with my mind in a way I’d never tried before.

“It’s the only way to communicate with you without waking the others,” it replied, as calm and matter-of-fact as if we were discussing the weather. Panic surged through me, and I felt a sudden weight pressing down on my chest, rendering me immobile. This couldn’t be real. I’d wake up any second now.

“I wouldn’t have bothered you,” the voice continued, “but I know you’re already awake.”

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. “What… what do you want?” I tried to project with my mind, feeling absurd, but what else could I do?

“There’s no need for fear. We are a group of scientists who observe humans. We’ve been watching your conversations tonight with your friends. Your discussions on theology were particularly intriguing. The humor, the profanity—you humans are so fascinating,” it said with a tone that sounded almost… amused.

“You’re an alien?” I shouted in my mind, curiosity momentarily overpowering my fear. “Why are you talking to me?”

There was a pause, and for a moment, I thought it had gone. Then, it spoke again. “We had an unexpected malfunction and crashed nearby. My people are recharging our craft. This world has so little usable energy now. Once, there were structures that amplified it, built by the ancients, but those have long since fallen. I approached you because I wish to give you a gift.”

“A gift?” I echoed, my mind racing. “Why me?”

Silence.

Then, the zipper of my tent began to move. My heart pounded in my ears as the faint hum of the zipper’s teeth echoed in the stillness. The flap slid open just a crack, enough to allow something long and slender to reach inside. A finger—lanky, grey, and otherworldly—poked through the slit, and I found myself frozen, unable to move, as it pressed gently against my forehead.

A surge of electric energy coursed through me, and suddenly, I was both in my body and not. It felt as if my consciousness had split, as if I was peering through two sets of eyes. Neelah. Its name was Neelah. The name hummed inside my head, resonating with a warmth that felt oddly comforting, even though my body had turned to jelly.

What happened next was something I can barely describe without feeling my cheeks burn. As Neelah shared a fraction of its essence with me, I experienced what can only be described as the most intense, mind-blowing orgasm of my life—an unearthly euphoria that left me trembling. However, it came with an unexpected side effect: a rather unfortunate bowel movement. In that moment of shared consciousness, I sensed Neelah’s amusement, and I couldn't help but feel the humor in the absurdity of it all. There I was, lying in my tent, covered in sweat, shame, and… well, the aftermath of an experience I still struggle to describe without laughing.

“Your gift,” Neelah’s voice whispered in my mind as the light around me faded, “awaits you outside.”

Before I could respond, Neelah was gone. I felt the air shift, and with great effort, I pulled myself upright. My heart hammered against my ribs as I unzipped the tent with trembling hands, desperate to see what had been left behind. There, resting in the moonlight, was a small, metallic craft—my very own flying saucer, no bigger than my tent.

I scrambled out, stark naked, and splashed into the water to clean off, trying to wrap my head around what had just happened. As I stood there, shivering in the cool night air, I felt like I was trapped in the weirdest Steven Spielberg film ever made. Although, characters having a shitgasm isn’t exactly the stuff of cinematic masterpieces.

I took a deep breath, stepped into the saucer, and the door sealed around me with a soft hum. As if guided by instinct, my fingers traced the glowing symbols on the console, and with a rush of wind, I was lifted into the sky. I soared above the lake, above the campsite where Lance and Bruce still snored in ignorant bliss. An indescribable sensation washed over me—wonder, awe, an overwhelming sense of connection. I laughed, not just out of exhilaration, but from some deeper place, a pure, unguarded joy that bubbled up naturally, as if the universe itself was in on the joke. 

There I was, naked as the day I was born, drifting weightlessly in my own flying saucer, finally feeling like anything was possible. The cool air enveloped me like a comforting embrace, perfectly balanced—not too warm, not too cool—just the right temperature to make me feel alive and free. I felt no weight on my body, no heaviness of concern or responsibility, as if I had been untethered from the very fabric of gravity. The stars twinkled brightly against the vast, velvety sky, each one a distant promise of adventure. In that moment, I felt liberated, free from the burdens of earthly constraints and expectations. The exhilarating rush of flying filled me with a sense of wonder, as if I were tapping into the very essence of existence. Every breath I took was infused with the magic of the cosmos, and I couldn’t help but smile at the thought that I was the captain of my own fate, gliding through the universe on a whim. The realization hit me that the only limits were those I placed on myself, and I embraced the thrill of uncertainty with open arms, ready to explore whatever lay ahead.