It shot out of the nightly sky, this something that shouldn't be anything. I noticed it while it streaked down, as The Overlord's squeals of delight made me hurry faster through the park as I made my way home after our normal, everyday walk.
There it was, landed on the ground where I had expected fire and brimstone or at least a mile-long crater in the ground. It was... a box. A box. A package holding something from someone delivered at my feet.
I touched it tenderly and found it cool to fingers. Scoping it up, I hurried home while trying to keep The Overlord's eager fingers from touching it. I wasn't sure what radiation, if any, it might possess. The Overlord's eyes were brighter than normal on this night. Her drool seemed to increase, as if she had eagerly anticipated something that has finally arrived.
Once home, I opened this mysterious package to find pieces of paper. That was it. Paper. A strange find that came from up above. I had an inkling why NASA shut down and why we have never found intelligent signs of alien life out in the black and star-filled emptiness of our universe. The geniuses of NASA thought to send up paper to the aliens, but no writing instruments for the aliens to send a message back.
I gave the papers to The Overlord to play with, as she happily sprinkled the baby formula from her bottle onto the papers. I began to take notice when words formed. Words appeared from the wetness sprinkled from a bottle nipple.
A hidden message? I took the first page -- to The Overlord's distress -- and began reading. These aliens have sent a message, aliens from a place called "New Or-le-ans." The name sounded familiar. Perhaps it was a planet mentioned by Morgan Freeman on his Discovery Show, "Through the Wormhole." Or perhaps I heard the name on a commercial that showed colorful beads during an American festival called Mardi Gras.
Whichever the case, I began reading the pages and found they were of many stories. Long stories and short stories and strange stories talking about this New Or-le-ans place. Why on Earth someone would write these stories and send them out was beyond me. But maybe the answer would turn up the more I read.
So I began with one story titled "The Tuba and the Saxophone." To think that these aliens from New Or-le-ans had such musical instruments made them seem a bit more human in my eyes. Of course, this could be a farce to disguise their super alien powers by hypnotically brainwashing mankind. Time would tell, I guess.
So that these story/plans of world domination do not become lost, I want to share one or five paragraphs with you. I assure you that I did not write the following fragments of story. If you have read my blog long enough, you should be able to tell the different writing style/voice. Here is the story from the mysterious package.
The tuba player and the saxophone player were practicing their craft, rather than plying it. No upturned hat was put out. The scene was just two young men who met after their respective gigs, one in the Quarter, one in the Marigny, and they decided to play together. They hadn't planned the duet beforehand. They did not advertise it. They did not take requests. Two musicians concentrated on working together to make a beautiful thing that disappeared, except in memory, as soon as it was created, note by note. They succeeded...
Two by two, people began to gather under the streetlights, and they danced. When a New Orleanian sees six people dancing in public, he or she wants to be lucky number seven. Soon enough, cars were parked on the sides of the avenues and under the overpass. A duo playing solitaire became a concert. Serendipity weaves an intricate tapestry dense with details...
A man with tears in his eyes told me that music is beautiful. I had to agree. It is the second time this week that I have seen a grown man cry. He told me: "When the song is right, and the players are right, then the most beautiful thing a human being can make is right there in you. You can feel it. If you can't feel it, you're dead. You've got nerves in your ear, you know?"
I don't know, at least I don't know who this mysterious writer is, whether genius lies in him or madness. But such writings need more perusal. If time allows, I will share more of this writing with you. Maybe we can decipher the true meaning that lies within this place called New Orleans.