Published: 2025-09-02

John walked slowly in the front yard, pushing the lawnmower in front of him. He wasn’t looking like himself that morning. Physically, he looked the same: six feet tall, gray mustache, small ears pointed outwards, everything was the same, and yet, something was different.

It was the night before when everything changed, and nothing would be the same again in New Town.

It was 8:30 PM and John was in the lawn. His body was suspended in the air over a hammock and a pile of beer cans to his right. He had fallen asleep after his fifteenth beer; the anti-communist speech of Michael Miller on the radio couldn’t reach him.

His wife, Linda, came out of the house and stood in the doorway. “Look at this pig, getting wasted on a Tuesday night.” She said. Linda stood there clicking her tongue, both hands on her hips. One day, she is a tall blonde with a defined jawline and a Colgate smile; fast-forward to today, and she is married to an alcoholic who believes his duty to the country is to financially support the Budweiser company.

Linda walked around the lawn picking up beer cans while Michael Miller's speech continued on the radio: “The communist parasite has infected our country, our youth, our way of life. They take our jobs, marry our women, and corrupt our children. How long are we willing to allow them to disrupt the God given treasure that our country represents? Since World War II, this country…”

Linda returned to the house with a bag full of beer cans. “You’re not worth the aluminum these cans are made of.” She said, before slamming the door leading to the lawn.

“They will come for your loved ones when you least expect them. They will take them, brainwash them, and turn them against their own. If we as a people are not prepared for them, if we are not able to retaliate, it will be the end of our way of life.”

Linda went upstairs and took a shower. The sky illuminated for a second. Thunder? She thought. It couldn’t be; it was a starry summer night. She paid no attention to it.

She exited the shower and, through the bedroom window, looked at the lawn. Is John still lying out there? She thought. It was dark, and she couldn’t tell. She put on her pajamas and went downstairs.

She stood in the doorway and called for him, “John. John, it’s late, come to bed.” No response. “I can’t believe he is still sleeping out here.” She started walking towards the hammock while calling for him, “John, you get up that hammock and come to bed this minute.” No response. Linda was starting to get upset. She shook the hammock as she called for him, but there was nobody there. The hammock was empty. Michael Miller’s speech on the radio was replaced by static.

As she stood there dumbfounded, a cold hand crept over her shoulder. She let out a shriek. It was John. “What do you think you’re doing, John? You startled me.” She looked at him from top to bottom, illuminated by the night sky, and became confused. “Why are you naked, John?” He didn’t answer. “Jesus Christ, you’re wasted. Come inside before the neighbors see you. We’ll look for your clothes tomorrow.” Linda grabbed him by the arm and took him inside. “I can’t believe this is what became of my life. Having to deal with an alcoholic, good-for-nothing husband night after night.” As they got away from the hammock and near the door, Michael Miller’s speech replaced the sound of static.

“Be diligent, don’t let them into your home; they may look like your loved ones, but communist brainwashing has no respect for human life. They would use your mother to promote their ideology if they could. Keep your eyes—” Linda turned back and turned off the radio before entering the house.

Linda took John upstairs. “You'd better go to sleep right away, John. There’s much to talk about, but that can wait until tomorrow.” John stood there, naked, without saying anything. Linda pointed at the bed and said, “Lie down, now.” John obeyed her. Linda looked upwards and said, “Lord, is this really the plan you have for your daughter?” She turned off the lights, and they went to sleep.

The next morning, Linda got up early and made breakfast; John slept. She went upstairs and woke him up. “John, wake up. Are you planning to sleep all day?” He woke up. “Now, what do you have to say for yourself?” John said nothing. “Nothing? Not even ‘I’m sorry’? That’s the least you can do, John. A mere sorry. S-o-r-r-y.” John looked at her with dead eyes and said, “Sorry.” Linda took her hands out of her hips and said, “Well, that’s a start. Now get changed and go mow the front yard. After that, you can have breakfast.” John still looked at her, emotionless. “Put on some clothes.” Linda said while pointing at the closet.

John started mowing the lawn, clumsily pushing the lawnmower and dragging his feet as if he were a baby taking his first steps with a walker.

Up and down the street, in every front yard, the man of the house was cutting the grass. They were all clumsily pushing the lawnmower and dragging their feet in sync with one another as if they were soldiers of the same platoon.

Above the neighborhood, way over the clouds, leaving the Earth and passing the satellites that orbit around it, in a spherical metallic object, two creatures conversed.

“Sir, the inoculation process was a success. Every male within a 500-kilometer radius was implanted. What’s the next step?”
“Now we sit and wait for their growth and development.”
“What about re-education, sir?”
“That won’t be necessary. The male species is weak; the females will re-educate them for us.”
“Understood, sir.”
“They let us into their house. That will be the end of their way of life.”

THE END.