Pim suddenly elbow-strikes my jaw and somersaults to say, “Hope you like soup, motherfucker,” his habit of guzzling energy drinks for the past three months nonstop finally showing through his self-confidence, all while I cry out depressing sentence fragments through my broken teeth, he’s our Ripley for the day although he looks nowhere near Sigourney Weaver, he’s half-German for a start and already standing a foot taller than the rest of us, but he’s the birthday kid anyway so I keep my mouth shut although I leak blood, staying admirably in character for one last confrontation with the alien kind.
A writer of Turkish descent, Sarp Sozdinler has been published in Electric Literature, The Kenyon Review, The Masters Review, Trampset, and Maudlin House, among other journals. www.sarpsozdinler.com Instagram and X: @sarpsozdinler