czechoslovakians: (Alien King)
[personal profile] czechoslovakians
ooc: This one was too perfect not to try out

On July 2nd, 1947 at 9:47pm something happened in Roswell, New Mexico that is still referred to as the incident. The government claims it was a weather balloon crashing. Residents swear it was little, green men. The entire town revolves around “the incident”. We’ve got theme restaurants, museums and festivals celebrating that night. The incident has spawned a thousand theories and launched a million stories. Everything from E.T. to War of The Worlds.

[locked to everyone except Liz, Michael, Isabel and Maria]

They’re all wrong. It wasn’t an incident or little green men. It wasn’t a horrible race of beings trying to take over the planet and it wasn’t a weather balloon. It was Isabel, Michael and me. Our ship crashed on July 2nd, 1947. Forty two years later three six year old children were found wandering in the desert alone. Phillip and Diane Evans picked up Isabel and me. A week later, Michael was found. He went into foster care. Isabel and I were so very lucky.

It’s incredibly hard sometimes, living in a town that refers to you as an incident. It’s hard knowing that if people knew what we were that they’d be terrified. They’d turn us into lab rats. Sometimes I’m still afraid that Liz is going to be afraid of me, afraid to be alone with me. I’m afraid she’ll look up at me one day and realize what I am. I’ve never hurt anyone but the human race isn’t known for taking that into account before hurting others, particularly those that are different.

I’ve got a million and one questions about ‘the incident’. No one has the answers. I don’t know why or how or where. I don’t remember where we came from and I don’t know how to get back. I don’t even know if I’d want to. Home isn’t some distant planet in some galaxy far, far away. Home to me is the same thing it is to everyone else. It’s the people I love. It’s here on earth. For all of its weirdness, home is Roswell, New Mexico and the people that live here.

It wasn’t an incident. It was an arrival, whether by mistake or planned. That crash was me.


I don’t think anyone really knows what happened that night. Or any of the nights afterwards.

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czechoslovakians: (Default)
Max Evans

March 2007

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