She stood naked looking out the window, limbed by the lights of the city. “You people,” she said.
From the deep hotel bed I said, “what people?”
She shook her head and after a moment looked back over her shoulder at me. It seemed, in that light, that maybe her light brown eyes were lit from within, but it was just the way her they caught the glow of the the television, I told myself.
“You people,” she said again. “You need something to fear. It’s wired in your brains.”
“Uh huh,” I said. The night was getting a little weird. I was for sure going to end up paying for the room, I could tell, no matter what she had said.
She snorted. “If you don’t have something concrete to fear, you will invent something.” Her eyes were definitely glowing now.
I pushed myself up against the headboard, pulling the sheets up with me to cover my frailty. My gut told me that there was no need to invent something to be afraid of at that moment. She watched me.
“You’re cute when you’re terrified,” she said, and turned to look back out the window. “It’s an honest fear.” She took a deep breath. “Delicious. Left to yourselves, that fearful instinct, combined with the power you suddenly wield, will certainly destroy you. There’s no doubt. That’s why I’m here.”
“To… help?” I was starting to feel the heat radiating from her body. She didn’t seem like the helpful type.
“Maybe,” she said. “Or maybe just to speed things up. I’ve been sent to simplify things.”
She waited for my obligatory leading question but my throat was dry.
She laughed. “I’m giving you something real to fear. It’s as simple as this: you people learn to work together and kill me, or I will cleanse this planet of life.”
“Simple enough,” I croaked, as I kissed my planet goodbye.