"Remember that big science breakthrough, the one about gravity waves? It could be either fortune or misfortune that light travels at a finite speed, because as it turns out, those gravity waves weren't from the big bang. Like the tremmors before an earthquake, these waves were coming from finite points in space, and they were growing in intensity, but we couldn't see what was causing them.

It wasn't long until space stopped being the only place feeling tremmors; earthquakes were ripping across the planet from plate boundaries to the main-est of the mainlands within a week of the announcement.

There should have been more panic. The bible thumpers were hollering about a second coming, and the politicians were learning too late that they couldn't eat money. Somehow, though, this wasn't enough - there was a calmness over everyone I worked with as we pantomined out our daily lives. Maybe it was that hackle raising feeling that seeped through the air, or the muted horror as the news blared about another thousand chinamen dying, with news at 11."

My pen clattered on the floor as I laughed morosely, tears welling behind my eyes. The banging at the barricaded door hadn't let up. I wished it was a person, or maybe not. The barricade wasn't for people - it was for the things that had started appearing. Monsters from beyond the imagination, and from within it, too. I shook my head. For all I knew, I could be wherever the people who disappeared went; the windows were barricaded well, and my internet service had long since been cut, besides it wasn't like there was elec-

There was silence.
I waited with baited breath, the rush of nervous electricity arcing across my body, agonising.

Could this be my chance? I had holed myself up for the last three days since the announcement of someone from town found ripped to shreds and hung with their intestines, and whilst food didn't last forever, it was water that I learnt to covet. Without water I would likely die within this week, eldritch horrors or not.

I wasted no time picking myself up. Donning the 'bulletproof' vest, a rainjacket and my smartphone. I looked to the dulled katana I thought to hole up back when all this started. Britain is a shithole, and getting guns is near impossible, but smuggling relics like this that had been passed down was easy enough. I wasn't retarded though: I couldn't wield a sword, and it certainly isn't good in all occasions. Perhaps the old coilgun? It wasn't powerful, but it was silent compared to a gun, and still did more damage than was legal before law stopped mattering. I grabbed a belt and stashed both the katana and coilgun as well as grabbing my backpack/bugout kit.

"Better be safe than sorry." I muttered, ignoring the protests at the back of my mind about the costs of carrying extra weight.

I headed to the front door, which would have been planked if the buildings here had walls that didn't kill all my drillbits. Some furniture removal later, and I took in the sight before me.

The cool night air had an otherworldly quality to it as the gusts of wind played around the pleasantly monster-less grass. Of course, I wasn't looking at the wonderful night sky, nor the disturbing lack of houses that normally faced across from mine, rather I was busy gaping at the wall of violet flames encircling something I could barely see through the haze and the feel of wrongness in the air.

And there was the sound of crying.

Better people than me would've rushed forward without regard to save the person who sounded like a girl. I would tip a trillby to their humanity. No; the first thing that came to mind was if it was a good idea to help someone. I kicked myself at that thought, naturally, there was no point being psychopathic when humanity's best strategies for survival hinged on small groups of people. And I sure as hell didn't want to die. The psychopathic part of me, the one that I wanted to throttle, conceeded, and I wasted no time looking for a way through.

The solution was simple - kick some dirt over the flames are run through. I probably would get minor burns, but that's what clothes are for; believe it or not, some clothes don't burst into flame the second a fire so much as looks at it.

The first thing I noticed was the feeling of hackle-raising otherworldlyness which electrified the air with new vigour. The second was the prone form of a crying purple entity before a- what used to be a person.

I should have felt guilt that it had probably been this person who had been knocking on my door instead of a monster. I'm glad I didn't as the pain would've crippled me right in front of the decidedly pitiful looking monster that most probably did them in.

Pulling out the coilgun slowly so not to make a noise, I set the capacitors to charge and aimed the relatively quiet weapon at the unmoving creature.

The capacitors reached fever pitch.
It looked at me.
I fired.

The previously unpercieved horn started up with that same lilac fire, and the shot simply disappeared. The creature had a look of confusion and anger, an anger that grew with the intensity of the flames of it-her (it was definitely a her) horn.

She passed the corpse a glance, and fell to the ground, horn extinguished and tears once again matting her fur.

I was undecided. Not because a motherfucking unicorn just magic-ed away a bullet and was going to incinerate my ass, rather I was undecided because she didn't.

I just stared mutely until a voice piped up from her direction.

"Rao? Styel aliha, keaktoihtuilr..." She looked pitifully down, as if she was ready to be beheaded by the sword I carried.

I was at loss for words - talking purple unicorn speaking alien gibberish, but with a definite structure and the familiar pitch intonations. Against my better judgement, I took the sword from my belt with both hands, clearly held it before her, and cast it to the ground. And sat. Sitting was important. I still had my gun if anything went wrong. I hoped my actions would set the right message.

There was just confusion in it- her eyes. She was people, apparently, and maybe this very emotional alien could be of some use.

Her eyes widened in what I could only hope was understanding, and, with the feintest smile of what looked like hope touching her lips (muzzle?), she bowed down low until her horn touched the ground. It took a beat to realise she was reciprocating my trust; the horn did look sharp.

I forced a smile, hoping against hope that the smile I saw meant the same thing mine was supposed to.

Author's Note

Thanks to Loli759 for being the first brave soul to actually criticise. You're better than a pre-reader; you're a post-reader.