Arya

I stand in the long line just the way I had been instructed. Even though I've already met a few of the other tributes at the Air Force base (location determined by the Lorpa, of course) I still feel out of place. This constant shuffling of women in an assembly line feels like some kind of nightmare, but I can't wake up.

I've been called upon, just like many of the women I'd known before. It's been a yearly event ever since the Lorpa had invaded the continent, and presumably, Earth itself.

I was hoping I'd have a bit longer, before I got called. They came soon after I left high school. By now, the selection of tributes has become such a norm that no one blinks twice when they receive the call to action in the mail.

They rarely show their faces, these strange alien creatures. Yet, they demand the attendance of ten strong and capable human women each year to participate in some secretive ritual. Women living in the same nature preserve that I was born and raised in like to speculate on the creatures and their intentions, though no one really knows for sure. The general consensus seems to be that they require us for reproduction.

I scoff at them, the same way I scoff at the other nine women waiting in line at the base, who mutter with elevated curiosity. It all sounds like the same old story to me; a strange race comes to invade another planet, and their main goal is to take over the women and use them as kidnapped vessels?

I may be a bit of recluse, but I'm not stupid. I have lived and thrived on the nature preserve with my grandfather, and have learned an exceptional amount more about wild animals than I have ever learned about humans. But I feel I know all I need to know, which is that both animals and humans have one thing in common.

They are both willing to devour the other for reasons that are only relevant to themselves.

And because of this knowledge, I believe the call of the tributes are something far more sinister than enforcing a blend of our DNA.

Nevertheless, I'm nervous. What I do know is that there is some kind of physical element involved, because all of the women around me look like they are MMA fighters, Olympians, or some kind of athlete. These women were selected deliberately for their skill, of that I am certain.

I don't consider myself any of those things. I am just good at long-distance running, maybe, and have a vast amount of experience with wildlife, which was what accidentally landed me on the tribute call list.

A woman in front of me, with buff arms and a thick bulky waist, turns in line with eyes that glimmer like stars under the Air Base lamps.

"Are you that girl who chased down that antelope and applied medicine?"

For a second, my mind goes blank. I had been ruminating about an escape plan when the stranger ahead started speaking. I squeeze my eyes closed, coming back down to planet earth.

"Um, yes I am," I mutter. "I didn't realize everyone knew about that."

The woman spins around and grabs my wrist. She is enthused and devastatingly strong.

"Christ you're amazing! Of course everyone knows you! I'm Anna, gold medal bodybuilder."

I smile politely. I've been taught to never be rude to a friendly stranger, even if I am not necessarily in the mood for light-hearted chatter. It was of the utmost importance to my Grandfather that I remain kind.

Of course, as a man, he seemed to fail to understand that what he considered kindness could have repercussions, especially for women. I usually do whatever I am asked to avoid trouble, and sometimes only find myself in more trouble as a result.

"Nice to meet you, Anna," I respond.

"So what happened with all of that?"

Anna is almost a foot taller than me, with blue eyes that glisten like water on an ocean at sunset. She seems thrilled about whatever we are waiting for, which confuses me a bit.

"With the video?" I ask, attempting to shield my grimace.

Anna nods frantically like a bobblehead. She is holding her hands together tightly, which makes me thankful that she had removed my hand in time.

I instinctively blow up my bangs, which could be interpreted as rude if Anna wasn't so hijacked with excitement. I lean into the story with words I have recited like a mantra ever since it had been found on the internet.

"It was a tourist who posted it," I begin. "I live in a nature preserve with my grandfather so it's pretty normal for me to want to help. I saw an injured antelope, and you know the story from there."

Anna cheers with glee, causing the other women to turn their heads.

"The way you ran was so magical! Majestic! I must have watched it at least thirty times!"

I nod, stuck between the strange feeling of wanting to escape an interaction but still remaining civil. I don't think the video is that groundbreaking or exceptional. The antelope had a piece of barbed wire in its leg. I proceeded to remove it promptly, apply some medicine, then help it on its way.

But, it showcased what minimal athleticism I possess, which seems to be what the Lorpa's are looking for.

"Thank you, thank you," I said, giving a bashful smile and letting my body language turn inward.

Some of the other women in front of us start to inquire about the commotion when a loud crash is heard from above. Immediately, all of the women stand at attention, and an eerie silence casts itself over the entire airbase.

It is mid-afternoon on a cool day, the sky a dark gray chrome. The crashing sound is thunderous.

I, along with the other women, have heard about the way the Lorpa's emerge to the people of earth annually. No one knows where they reside the rest of the year, and little is heard from them, beyond the calling of the female tributes.

I stand still, my heart smashing around inside my chest like a pissed off bird. I crane my neck with everyone else, and watch as the silvery shade parts, welcoming the presence of a dome-shaped hovering ship.

It appears very similar to the images cultivated in pop culture, a flying saucer of sorts, floating down soundlessly to the air strip in front of us. I feel the wind from the ship push up against my face, repeating to myself the various things my Grandfather had told me about fear.

"It's not real," he'd said. "It's just a story your mind makes up."

Logically, I know he was right. But watching something straight out of a sci-fi fantasy novel stream down from the heavens feels pretty damn terrifying. No amount of telling myself that my fear is all in my head is going to convince me.

The ship is airy, with arms that look something like streamers. They expand on opposing sides of the shape, painting the overall form into something far more strange and unsettling. I watch as it comes lower, the dim light from behind the clouds revealing a more iridescent shade than the gunmetal-gray I'd initially detected.

It shimmers with the sun's rays, and plants itself down only six feet away from the women and I. It makes no noise as it connects, but sends a vibration through the ground that I feel all the way into the depths of my bones.

The women remain silent, some with fear, some in deluded exhilaration. A door of the ship slides open, and a tall, lanky being steps out and onto the Air base.

No one has ever seen the Lorpa's up close, unless you were chosen as a tribute. And those who are chosen never come back to tell about it. I thought that I would be content to live my entire life without sneaking a single peek at the race that wants to kidnap us.

From my perspective toward the back of the line, the being looks to be dressed in a long, flowing robe. The robe is also an iridescent shade, changing as it steps forward. Its head is the average human size, but the mouth rests above the eyes, which is strangely unsettling. The creature's skin appears varying shades of blue-ish gray, the color seeming to change with its movements and where it stands.

The silence shatters when the Lorpa begins speaking, in a tone that sounds like a projecting foghorn.

"Welcome! Humans!" it exclaims. "We are thankful to have you as tributes for our annual celebration. Please follow in an orderly fashion onto our transport machine as fast as you can, please and thank you."

The Lorpa's mouth - or at least what I think is a mouth - doesn't move as it speaks, and I'm not sure exactly where the sound is coming from. We are then immediately herded onto the ship, and I am the second from last person to get on.

We follow a long beam of light, walking to meet it. It is emanating from the ship's core, a lot like the light Christians are told to follow when passing into the afterlife.

I shiver at the morbid correlation, not eager to think about that. My family is there, but I am not ready to go yet.

As I walk into the beam of light, I feel my skin warming. There is a rush of endorphins flooding my brain and brainstem. I continue on, feeling like I am levitating, being pushed forward by an invisible force that guides me into a world of the strange and ominous.