The War of the Valentine

No one would have believed in the first weeks of the month of the festival of Februa that this world was being watched keenly and closely by intelligences greater than man's and yet as mortal as his own; that as men busied themselves about their various concerns (generally involving the acquiring of small tokens of love and dinner plans) they were scrutinized and studied, perhaps almost as narrowly as a man with a microscope might scrutinize the transient creatures that swarm and multiply in a drop of water.

With nary a care in the world man set out on that cold February day planning on celebrating their most cherished of emotions love, but just as one would prep and organize the perfect outing with his sweetheart so planned a horror far beyond anyone’s contemplation.

It was on this day, which we have come to call St. Valentines, I set out to acquire goods with my husband and the aliens descended into orbit around Earth planning our annihilation.

For being such a special holiday Target was positively swamped with people from every breath of life. A harried old woman clutching into nothing but towels swooped past us. Two young lovers, their eyes only for each other ran straight into a cart containing a young captive who upon further investigation was actually a small child bored out of her mind.

If it were not for our pressing business we would have turned and left, but one does not turn down the request of Mr. T.P. easily. After scoring the requisite paper de toilet I spotted the crowded pink and red valentine section.

“Ooh, surely they have something good left.” I cajoled to my husband and we entered into the fray.

It was here that we met the first of our invaders, only we had no idea then.

I picked through old piles of green MM’s and suckers pleading with me to “Be Theirs” (really how does one turn down a sucker? I’m sorry it’s not you it’s me. I’m just not made of nothing but molded glucose). My quest pulled me towards something small and hiding on the back shelf when I heard the longest whine behind me.

After making sure my ears were still secure I spun and watched horrified as all the bright and vibrant roses crinkled up like paper on the fire turning to black ash in front of me.

“What just happened?” I begged of my husband, hoping he had a rational answer, but the terror in his eyes squelched it instantaneously.

Still I was determined to press on, dreams of discount chocolate in my head.

My sights were set upon a lovely fabricated champagne bottle full of champagne kisses (no dreams sadly, though I would have shied away from any chocolate caviar). As I was reaching out to pick up the bottle my arm knocked the top off of one of those large plastic kiss holder and I was horrified by what I saw.

For as I started down at the kiss cookie jar, the kiss cookie jar started back at me. Or at least the eyeball inside of it did.

My scream carried all the way from Health and Beauty down to kids shoes. As I turned to run, fleeing from that unblinking eye my foot was caught upon something and I slammed into the ground. I picked myself up, blood trickling down my nose and my glasses bent beyond repair. My husband, quick thinking that he is, reached behind him and caught what tripped me.

It was the ugliest little robot I’d ever seen and unbeknownst to us at the time, hidden within that robot were swarms of Martians. They were protected from all of our disease and dangerous air inside of this little paper candy spacesuit.

Just as we exchanged a look, a push of men in black suits appeared. We were hoisted to our feet, the offending robot removed from our hands and all of the yelling and screaming Target clientele were forced outside.

As we huddled together not for warmth but for the security of finding a fellow human being 1,000 pounds of conversation hearts dropped onto the roof of the Target. Before a voice could be raised in confusion this was followed by a dribble of napalm and all of the confection went up in flames.

With the sounds of burning “UR KIND” sweetmeats came the squeals of dying aliens. I shall never again on the cusp of drifting into dreamland not hear that high pitched whine like a dying song inside of a Hallmark card.

All of the men in black suits offered each of us a $10 gift card in exchange for our silence and a pat on the back for helping in the martian elimination project.

My husband turned to me, forced a smile on his face, “This has been one strange Valentines day.”

And strangest of all of it is to hold my husband's hand again, and to think that I have counted him, and that he has counted me, among the ones that just made off with a bunch of free stuff from Target.

Ha ha, take that suckers!