Ain’t no immigrants gonna git into my Amurica.
Chuck stared down at the small, gray creature, its skin oily in appearance yet dry to the touch. Oblong eyes stared blankly up at the ceiling. They were larger than any Chuck had seen before, slanted slightly and completely black. He could clearly make out his sleeveless American flag shirt in its reflection. The creature was breathing softly through two flat slits that appeared to be its nose. There was no mouth in sight, yet he was sure it was making a soft humming sound. A small stream of green liquid flowed out from a wound beneath its pointed chin. He was one god damned weird looking Mexican.
He’d had found the man—he assumed it was a man—wandering around outside of his border-watching shack about an hour prior. Chuck had taken the week off work to enjoy a nice, relaxing vacation spent…
View original post 1,184 more words
Books and More 