The Origin of Amelia Argo

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Science Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Piper Peters has huge dreams. Unfortunately, an alien invasion has kept from achieving them. Join her on her journey to make a name for herself.

Submitted: July 11, 2013

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Submitted: July 11, 2013

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Spending today complaining about yesterday won't make tomorrow any better. - Unknown

In the entirety of my life, a quote like that had never meant more to me, because, well, to this point, complaining hadn't gotten me anywhere. It sure wouldn't let me survive this Hell.

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"Start spreading the news.  I'll be there today. I'd like to be a part of it, New York, New York," the words echoed through my mind. Never in my life had the words of a Frank Sinatra song impacted me like they did now. I didn't really know why, honestly. Maybe it was because New York wasn't really New York anymore, or because I had come to the conclusion that my time in the City that Never Sleeps was coming to a close. I didn't know how many more times I would wake up there, or how many more pairs of Vagabond shoes I would see or if I would ever see another Broadway show. I had always wanted to be on Broadway, but now I knew those dreams would never be, at least not since they had come.

They came in packs at first, starting by destroying small town but evemtually moving up to the big cities. I wondered why they hadn't hit New York sooner, but I would never complain. They had only given my mother, Amelia, and myself more time to prepare ourselves for the attack, which had come the day before.

Already, over half the city was dead. The worst part was that the Armmannians never even did anything with the bodies. They just left them laying on the streets as if saying, "You aren't worth anything." The funny thing was, we weren't, at least not against them. Compared to them, we were as smart as a sloth and less strong than an infant. Our chances of surviving were next to none.

I think the day it really hit me that we had no chance was when they killed the President. My twelve-year-old mind just couldn't comprehend the fact that anything could kill the most powerful man in the world-- even an alien race. Funny thing was that neither could my mom, and she was almost forty.

My mom and I had hidden in a basement for the past eight hours. We didn't leave for anything-- even food. We had agreed that we would rather starve than be put at the mercy of some three-eyed freaks. That was another thing about Armmannians. From behind, they looked a long like humans, but once you saw their faces you would see they were anything but. They had three eyes, and the third eye could see into your thoughts, like those old superstitions. Also, their tongues were split in two and they were about twice as strong as humans.

That wasn't what made us so vulnerable, though. You see, Armmannians were smart. I don't mean like straight A smart. I mean, the dumbest ones probably had the mind of Stephen Hawking. You can imagine the smart ones.

Screams filled my ears. They had made it to my area now. At the most, I may have had an hour left.

"Well, Momma, I guess this is goodbye," I said, trying to keep a straight face as tears rolled out of my eyes.

"Nonsense, Piper. Are either of us dying, yet?" she asked me, giving me the most reassuring smile she could. Something about her smile always made me feel safe.

"I guess not. I guess we are okay for now," I whispered. I crawled up beside her and huddled up for some extra warmth. "Wanna braid my hair? I asked. She smiled, wrapping her fingers through my hair and beginning to weave it into the perfect braid.

"Wanna know something, Piper?" she asked. I nodded. "Growing up, I always wanted a little girl with brown hair and eyes. I wanted her to look just like me, no exceptions, and most importantly, I didn't want her to have blonde hair. But, then you were born, and you had the exact opposite: blonde hair and blue eyes. And you wanna know something, Piper? The moment I laid my eyes on you, I could have sworn I had never seen anyting so beautiful in my life. The fact you had the exact opposite of what I had asked for just showed me that you were going to be stubborn, and man, I was right, because you're the most stubborn kid I've ever met. But you know what, baby? I wouldn't have you any other way. Never compromise yourself to be someone you're not, okay?"

I nodded, slowly dozing off into a sleep. I wasn't awakened until out of the blue, the top of my basement came flying off. I looked at Momma. She was in a daze.

"P-Piper," she called. I looked at her. "Run."

And like that the two of us took off, running through the streets of New York City in desperate hope to find shelter. I had no idea it had become this bad. Buildings had become nothing but rubble, bodies lined the streets in perfect lines, and rubble was being flown everywhere. We kept running until Momma stopped for a minute.

"What are you doing, Mom?" I asked, the panic that filled my voice filling both of our ears.

"Run, Piper," she whispered.

"No! Not without you!"

"I said run!" And like that she pushed me out of the way. Two words echoed through my ears.

"Target Aquired."

And like that, a bus with the word Argo written on the side came flying through the air, pinning my mom to the ground to her certain death.

"No!" I screamed, rushing to the side, trying to find some way to free her. "Please, please mom, please!" I called to her. But there was no way. The only free part of her body was her pinky finger.

I just sat there for a while, crying. I wondered why they hadn't come for me. Even as they passed by me, none of them stopped. Could they even see me?

As the ships began leaving, I couldn't help but wonder if I was the last one. Something inside of me told me I was, and that the war had been won, but we weren't the winners.

As the day became night, I remained in that same spot, waiting to die. The ships had all cleared. I was the survivor. The only one. I began to drift into a slumber, but a voice woke me up.

"Are you all right?" he asked. The accent was Armmannian, but the tone was gentle, kind. I looked up and he stood there in front of me, light illuminating from his back like an angel.

"Am I dead?" I asked him. He looked at me with his third eye, reassuring me he really wasn't there to harm me.

"No," he said, slipping his shaggy white hair out of his eye. "You're alive. Why don't you come with me? I promise you'll be okay with me."

He reached out a hand. I just looked at it for a moment to make up my mind. I didn't know whether or not to actually take it, but something about the way he made me feel reassured me to it.

"How old are you, kid?" he asked me. He couldn't be older than eighteen or nineteen, but I could tell he knew what he was doing.

"Twelve," I responded.

"Twelve," he repeated. "My name's Witt. Do you have a name?" he asked.

I looked to the bus and to my mother's pinky. "Amelia," I said. "Amelia Argo."


© Copyright 2019 Peyton Kirby. All rights reserved.

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