VENUSIAN BOWLING
ACT ONE: ENCOUNTER
CHAPTER 1
The convenience store's fluorescent lights hummed with the steady persistence of things built to last but not to please. Elliott Parker wiped down the counter for the third time in an hour and watched dust motes dance in the afternoon sunlight. Outside the grimy windows, Stillwater, Nebraska remained as motionless as its name suggested.
Three customers since his shift began at noon: Mrs. Winslow buying her weekly lottery ticket, a trucker filling up on coffee and beef jerky, and Mr. Hanson with his predictable purchase of fishing magazines and cheap beer. The digital clock on the register blinked 3:47. Four hours and thirteen minutes to go.
Elliott adjusted his name tag, which never quite sat straight. His reflection in the metal napkin dispenser caught his eye—the subtle iridescence that sometimes flashed across his pupils when the light hit them just right. He quickly looked away. Most people never noticed the difference, or if they did, they attributed it to a trick of the light. It was one of the few visible signs of his heritage, easy enough to dismiss or explain away.
He was restocking the cigarette display when the door chime broke the silence.
She didn't so much enter as materialize—a blur of movement and color against Stillwater's muted palette. Floral skirt swishing around worn leather boots, a denim jacket festooned with patches and pins, dark hair escaping from a loose braid. She carried a backpack that had seen better days and wore the slightly dazed expression of someone who'd been on the road too long.
"Hey," she said, approaching the counter. "Do you sell maps?"
"Local, state, or national?" Elliott asked, impressed that his voice sounded normal.
"Local, I guess." She looked around the store with the detached curiosity of an anthropologist. "Though I'm not sure there's enough here to map."
Elliott reached under the counter and pulled out a faded display of maps. "Stillwater and surrounding areas. Five dollars."
She handed over a crumpled five-dollar bill. "This place is certainly living up to its name. Is it always this..." She gestured vaguely at the empty store, the empty street beyond.
"Exciting?" Elliott supplied. "This is actually rush hour."
That earned him a laugh—quick and genuine—and something in his chest shifted slightly.
"I'm June," she said, unfolding the map and scanning it. "Just passing through on my way west."
"Elliott." He tapped his name tag unnecessarily.
"So, Elliott, what's the most interesting thing to do in Stillwater? And please don't say fishing, because I saw that sign on the way in claiming you're the 'Catfish Capital of Eastern Nebraska,' and I refuse to believe that's the highlight."
He considered the standard answers—the diner that served decent pie, the abandoned quarry where teenagers went to drink, the seasonal farmers' market that drew visitors from neighboring towns. All true, all painfully inadequate.
"Depends on what you find interesting," he said instead.
June looked up from the map, studying him with renewed interest. "I find most things interesting. Especially things people don't want me to know about." She smiled, leaning slightly over the counter. "So what's the real story of this place? Every town has one."
Elliott felt a familiar pressure behind his eyes—the sensation his mother had once described as his Venusian intuition recognizing something significant. There was something about this girl, something that made the air around her seem to vibrate at a different frequency than the rest of Stillwater.
But the rules were absolute: No outsiders. No exceptions.
"The real story is that some places are just places," he said, breaking eye contact to adjust a rack of candy bars. "No hidden depths, no secrets. Just people living their lives."
June folded the map with deliberate precision. "I don't believe that for a second, and I don't think you do either." She tucked the map into her jacket pocket. "Your eyes catch the light in the most unusual way."
Elliott froze, his hand still on the candy display. "Just a genetic quirk," he said carefully.
"Is that what they call it?" Her tone was light, but her gaze was steady. "Look, I'm stuck here overnight while my car gets fixed. The mechanic said the part won't arrive until tomorrow. I was going to grab dinner at that diner down the street. You get off work at some point, right?"
The pressure behind his eyes intensified. Warning or invitation, he couldn't tell which. The rules were clear—had been clear his entire life. Don't draw attention. Don't get close to outsiders. Don't reveal anything.
But something about June made him want to break every one of those rules.
"Eight," he heard himself say. "I get off at eight."
June smiled. "I'll be at the diner. Join me if you want." She headed for the door, then paused. "Or stay safe in your nowhere town with no secrets. Your choice."
The door chimed as she left, and Elliott stood motionless behind the counter. Four hours and seven minutes to go. Plenty of time to remember all the reasons why joining her would be a catastrophic mistake.
CHAPTER 2
The Starlight Diner gleamed under its neon sign, a relic from an era when Stillwater had been on its way to becoming somewhere. June sat in a booth by the window, watching the railroad tracks that cut through town like a reminder of all the places that weren't here.
She nursed her coffee, black and bitter, and considered calling her parents. Another cheery update from the road, another careful omission of the fact that she had no real destination, no actual plan beyond movement itself. They'd been surprisingly supportive of her "gap year"—probably relieved that their perpetually restless daughter had found an outlet that didn't involve changing her major for the fourth time.
The diner door opened, and she looked up, expecting Elliott. Instead, an older man entered, nodding to the waitress with the familiarity of routine. He glanced at June, his expression shifting from casual interest to something more focused. He took a seat at the counter, but she could feel him watching her in the reflection of the window.
Eight o'clock came and went. June ordered a slice of cherry pie more out of obligation to her table than actual hunger. She wasn't disappointed, she told herself. Just bored. Stillwater was living down to her expectations.
At 8:17, the door opened again, and Elliott stepped in, still wearing his work shirt but without the name tag. His eyes found her immediately, as if he'd known exactly where she would be sitting. He hesitated at the threshold, and for a moment, she thought he might turn around and leave.
Instead, he crossed to her booth and slid in across from her.
"You came," she said, pushing her half-eaten pie to the center of the table and offering him her fork. "I was starting to think you'd stood me up."
"Had to close out the register," he said, not touching the fork. "And think about whether this was a good idea."
"And?"
"Still thinking."
June smiled. "While you think, tell me how someone like you ends up in a place like this."
"Someone like me?"
"You don't fit here," she said simply. "I noticed it the second I walked into your store. You're... elsewhere, somehow."
Elliott's expression remained neutral, but his fingers tapped a silent rhythm on the laminate tabletop. "I was born here."
"That's not an answer to my question."
The older man at the counter was still watching them, June noticed. When Elliott followed her gaze, the man quickly turned back to his coffee.
"That's Mr. Linden," Elliott said quietly. "High school science teacher. Retired now."
"Friend of yours?"
"Family friend," Elliott replied. "Known him all my life."
June sensed an undercurrent she couldn't quite identify. "So is he protecting you from the dangerous out-of-towner, or warning you not to tell me too much about the exciting nightlife of Stillwater?"
Elliott's laugh surprised her—a genuine sound that transformed his face. For a moment, he looked unburdened, almost luminous. "There's nothing to tell."
"Liar," she said, but without malice. "Everyone has a story."
"What's yours, then?" Elliott countered. "What brings June..."
"Holloway."
"June Holloway to the metropolis of Stillwater, Nebraska?"
She considered the question, wondering which version of herself to present. The disillusioned college dropout? The aspiring free spirit? The girl running from the suffocating expectations of upper-middle-class suburban life?
"I'm on a journey of self-discovery," she said, making her voice deliberately lofty. "Seeking authentic experiences in America's heartland."
"How's that working out for you?"
"Well, the authentic experience of waiting three hours for a mechanic to tell me my car needs a part that won't arrive until tomorrow was certainly something," she said dryly. "But I remain undaunted in my quest for meaning."
Elliott studied her, and again she had the disconcerting feeling that he was seeing more than she intended to show. "What are you really looking for, June Holloway?"
The directness of the question caught her off guard. "I don't know," she admitted, surprising herself with her honesty. "Something different. Something real. I just know I wasn't finding it at home or at school."
"And you think you'll find it here?"
"Probably not," she conceded. "But you never know where the real thing might be hiding." She leaned forward. "So help me out. What does a person do for fun in Stillwater after dark?"
Elliott glanced at Mr. Linden again, who was now deliberately ignoring them. When he looked back at June, something had changed in his expression—a decision made.
"Do you like bowling?" he asked.
CHAPTER 3
Elliott knew he was making a mistake before they even left the diner. Mr. Linden's disapproving gaze followed them out the door—a silent reminder of the rules Elliott was about to break. But walking beside June in the gathering twilight, he couldn't bring himself to care as much as he should.
"Bowling?" June said, sounding amused. "That's your big reveal? The hidden excitement of Stillwater is tenpins and rental shoes?"
"You haven't seen our bowling alley," Elliott replied. He led her away from Main Street, past the convenience store where he worked, toward the older part of town that had largely been abandoned when the highway bypass was built in the 1980s.
June kept pace beside him, her boots scuffing against the sidewalk. "So what's your story, really? And don't tell me there isn't one. Nobody looks at the world the way you do without having seen something the rest of us haven't."
Elliott considered what he could safely tell her. "My mom left when I was sixteen," he said finally. "Dad died when I was ten. It's just been me since then."
"I'm sorry," June said, and he was surprised by the genuine sympathy in her voice. "Where did your mom go?"
"Home," Elliott said simply. "She stayed as long as she could."
June seemed to sense the boundaries around this topic and didn't press further. Instead, she asked, "So do you have plans to leave Stillwater someday?"
"It's complicated," Elliott said. "I have... responsibilities here."
"To what? The convenience store empire?"
"To people who depend on me."
They walked in silence for a few minutes, turning onto a street lined with shuttered businesses. At the end of the block, a faded neon sign flickered erratically: "Cosmic Lanes," with a stylized bowling ball and pins.
"This doesn't look open," June observed as they approached the building. The windows were covered with thick curtains, but a faint glow emanated from behind them.
"It's open," Elliott said. "Just not to everyone."
He led her to a side door and knocked—three short taps, two long. The door opened a crack, and a woman with silver-streaked hair peered out.
"Elliott," she said, her voice a mixture of surprise and concern. Her gaze shifted to June. "Who's your friend?"
"This is June," Elliott said. "June, this is Mrs. Chen. She owns the place. June's car broke down, and she's stuck in town overnight. I thought I'd show her around."
Mrs. Chen gave him a look that clearly communicated her disapproval. "This isn't a tourist attraction, Elliott."
"I know. But she's cool. Trust me."
Mrs. Chen studied June for a long moment, then sighed. "Your mother always said your human side would get you into trouble someday." She stepped back, opening the door wider. "One hour. No pictures, no questions until you're inside. Understood?"
June nodded, looking between them with growing curiosity.
Mrs. Chen led them through a narrow hallway lined with photographs—bowling teams from decades past, faded and yellowing. The hall opened into what appeared to be a conventional bowling alley, with lanes stretching into the distance and worn leather seats grouped in clusters.
Except it was empty. No bowlers, no staff behind the concession counter.
"Through here," Elliott said, guiding June toward another door at the far end of the alley.
As they approached, June could hear music—something otherworldly and rhythmic, unlike anything she'd heard before. Elliott paused with his hand on the doorknob.
"What you're about to see," he said quietly, "you can't tell anyone about. Ever. This isn't a joke or a game. There are people whose safety depends on this staying secret."
June's eyes widened. "Are you in some kind of cult? Or is this a drug thing? Because I'm open-minded, but—"
"It's not a cult or drugs," Elliott assured her. "It's..." He struggled to find the words. "It's family," he said finally. "My family. Sort of."
He pushed open the door, and June's question died on her lips.
The room beyond was vast—much larger than seemed possible given the exterior of the building. The ceiling soared overhead, dotted with what looked like miniature constellations. The walls seemed to shift and pulse with colors that bled into one another like living watercolors.
But it was the occupants that made June grab Elliott's arm in shock.
Floating near the ceiling were what appeared to be clouds of luminescent gas—blues, purples, greens, and colors June had no names for. They moved with purpose and grace, intertwining and separating in patterns that somehow resembled a dance. Below them, people bowled on lanes that glowed with an inner light, their balls leaving trails of sparkling energy as they rolled.
Some of the bowlers looked human. Others had the same subtle differences June had noticed in Elliott—eyes that caught the light strangely, movements that were just a fraction too fluid to be natural.
And interspersed among them were beings that seemed to flicker between human form and something else—as if they couldn't quite decide which shape to hold.
"What..." June whispered, unable to form a complete question.
"The gas clouds near the ceiling are Venusians," Elliott said quietly. "In their natural form. The people who look mostly human but a little off? Hybrids, like me." He turned to face her directly. "My mother is from Venus. My father was human. Those are my people up there, June. The ones who look like colored lights? That's what I really am. Or half of me, anyway."
June stared at him, then back at the impossible scene before her. "Venus," she repeated. "As in the planet Venus?"
Elliott nodded.
"But that's—" June stopped herself from saying "impossible." Clearly, it wasn't.
A woman approached them—or rather, a swirl of violet and indigo mist that gradually condensed into a woman-shaped being as it neared.
"Elliott," the being said, her voice like wind chimes. "Who have you brought to us?"
June felt the world tilt slightly. The being's form wasn't quite solid—she could see the bowling lanes through her translucent edges.
"This is June," Elliott said. "She's passing through town. I..." He hesitated. "I wanted her to see."
The mist-woman's expression was impossible to read. "You know the rules."
"I know," Elliott acknowledged. "But sometimes rules need to be broken."
The woman turned her attention to June, who felt rooted to the spot by that ethereal gaze. "Welcome to our sanctuary, June of Elsewhere. I am Lyra." Her form shifted slightly, colors swirling. "What Elliott has shown you is our most guarded secret. We have existed alongside humans for centuries, visiting your world as observers and occasional participants in your development."
"Why a bowling alley?" June found herself asking.
Lyra's form rippled in what might have been laughter. "Why not? Your species finds meaning in the strangest places. We found we enjoy the mathematics of the game, the community it fosters." She gestured around them. "And the architecture of such places allows us to exist comfortably in our natural state while still interacting with the solid world."
June looked at Elliott, who was watching her reaction carefully. "You're half...gas cloud?"
"My biology is complex," he said. "But essentially, yes. My molecular structure is less fixed than a full human's. I can't transform completely like pure Venusians can, but I'm not entirely bound by human limitations either."
"That's why your eyes sometimes..."
"Catch the light differently," he finished. "Yes."
June turned slowly, taking in the entire scene—the dancing lights above, the hybrid bowlers, the lanes that seemed to shift and change with each throw. It was beautiful, alien, and somehow deeply familiar at the same time.
"Why are you showing me this?" she asked finally, turning back to Elliott.
His expression was complicated—fear and hope and something else she couldn't name. "Because you asked what was real," he said simply. "And this is the most real thing I know."
CHAPTER 4
The next morning, June sat on a bench outside Ray's Auto Repair, waiting for her car and trying to process everything she'd seen. Elliott had walked her back to her motel after the bowling alley, neither of them speaking much. The experience had been too overwhelming for casual conversation.
Venusians. Real, actual aliens—not from some distant star system, but from Earth's nearest planetary neighbor. Living secretly in a bowling alley in Stillwater, Nebraska. And Elliott—quiet, watchful Elliott with his strange iridescent eyes—was one of them. Half of him, anyway.
"Part's here," Ray called from the garage doorway, wiping his hands on a rag. "Should have you back on the road in an hour or so."
"Thanks," June replied automatically, her mind elsewhere.
She should be leaving town as soon as her car was ready. Continue her aimless journey, pretend she'd never seen what she'd seen in that bowling alley. That would be the sensible thing to do.
Instead, she found herself walking toward the convenience store where Elliott worked.
He was behind the counter, just as he had been yesterday, though today he looked tired. He glanced up when she entered, his expression a mixture of wariness and hope.
"My car will be ready in an hour," she said, stopping at the counter.
Elliott nodded. "So you're leaving."
"I don't know." June studied him, seeing him differently now. The subtle otherness she'd noticed before was obvious once you knew what to look for—the fluid quality of his movements, the strange luminescence that sometimes flashed in his eyes. "I have questions."
"I bet you do." Elliott glanced around the empty store, then leaned forward. "I broke about a dozen rules showing you that place."
"Why did you?"
He seemed genuinely puzzled by the question. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "Something about you... I just wanted you to see it. To see me."
June felt an unexpected warmth at his words. "How many of you are there? Half-Venusians, I mean."
"In Stillwater? About twenty of us," Elliott said. "Worldwide? Maybe a few hundred. We're rare. Venusian-human reproduction isn't easy."
"And the full Venusians? The gas clouds?"
"They come and go. They're explorers by nature. Venus is... different. Their society isn't structured like human societies. They don't have countries or governments, at least not as humans understand them."
"But they hang out in bowling alleys?"
Elliott smiled. "Not just bowling alleys. But they like places humans consider social but not critical. Places where their presence won't disrupt the essential functions of human society. Bowling alleys, roller rinks, certain types of bars and clubs."
"And nobody notices?"
"People see what they expect to see," Elliott said. "And Venusians can appear human when they need to. It takes energy and concentration, but they can do it for short periods. Most people who might glimpse something unusual just convince themselves they didn't."
June thought about this. "So why the secrecy? If they're peaceful explorers, why hide?"
Elliott's expression darkened. "History. The few times humans have discovered Venusians, it hasn't gone well. There were incidents in the 1950s... research facilities, experiments. Venusians who never made it home." He shook his head. "They're not invaders or conquerors. They just want to observe, to experience, to understand. But humans tend to fear what they don't understand."
The bell above the door jingled as an elderly customer entered. Elliott straightened up, the conversation paused.
"Think about what you want to do," he said quietly as he moved to help the customer. "If you want to talk more, I get off at four today."
June nodded and left the store, her mind spinning with implications. As she walked back toward the repair shop, she passed the diner where she'd met Elliott the night before. Through the window, she could see Mr. Linden, the retired science teacher, watching her with undisguised suspicion.
She quickened her pace, suddenly aware that her knowledge made her both special and potentially dangerous—to Elliott, to the hybrid community, to the Venusians themselves.
By the time she reached Ray's garage, her car was ready. She paid the bill and took the keys, then sat in the driver's seat without starting the engine.
The sensible thing would be to drive away, to convince herself she'd imagined it all or at least to put as much distance as possible between herself and this bizarre situation.
Instead, she found herself driving to the motel office and extending her stay for another night.
Some things were worth being late to nowhere for.
CHAPTER 5
Elliott wasn't surprised when June showed up at the convenience store at 4:05. Part of him had known she wouldn't leave—not yet, anyway. The human curiosity that his mother had always found so charming wouldn't let her.
"Want to take a walk?" he asked as he emerged from the store, having changed out of his work shirt into a plain gray t-shirt.
June nodded, falling into step beside him. "I extended my stay," she said. "I'm not ready to leave yet."
"I figured." Elliott led her toward a small park at the edge of town, away from curious eyes and ears. "You have more questions."
"About a million," June confirmed. "But let's start with you. What's it like? Being half-human, half... not."
Elliott had never tried to articulate this to anyone before. All the other hybrids understood without explanation, and full humans had never known to ask.
"Imagine always being aware of two different ways to be," he said finally. "Two different perspectives on everything. Humans are so... fixed. In your bodies, in your thinking. Everything is solid, permanent, categorized. Venusians are fluid—literally and metaphorically. They experience existence as a continuous flow, not a series of discrete moments or defined states."
"And you're caught between."
"Yes. I experience time like a human, mostly. I have a physical form that's basically human. But I can feel the Venusian perspective too—this awareness of possibility, of transformation. It's like..." He searched for a comparison. "It's like most humans see the world as a photograph, but I see it as a film that's constantly moving."
They reached the park and sat on a bench overlooking a small, algae-covered pond.
"Do you ever wish you were fully one or the other?" June asked.
Elliott considered this. "Sometimes. It would be simpler. But I don't think I'd give up either part of myself. They're both me."
June was quiet for a moment, watching a dragonfly skim across the pond's surface. "Tell me about Venusian culture. What are they like?"
"They're old," Elliott said. "Much older than human civilization. And they've been visiting Earth for thousands of years, watching, learning. They're curious by nature. They value experience above almost everything else."
"What about relationships? Do they have families, partners?"
Elliott smiled. "Not like humans do. Venusians don't form exclusive bonds the way humans tend to. Their whole concept of love and connection is different. They form... I guess you could call them emotional resonances with each other. Deep connections, but not possessive ones. A Venusian might have profound connections with dozens or hundreds of others throughout their life."
"So they're like... cosmic polyamorists?" June sounded both intrigued and skeptical.
"That's oversimplifying, but not entirely wrong," Elliott acknowledged. "They don't understand jealousy or exclusivity. Those concepts don't translate to their experience."
"Is that why your mom left? Because she couldn't do the human relationship thing?"
The question stung more than Elliott expected. "Partly," he admitted. "My parents loved each other, but their understanding of what that meant was fundamentally different. My dad wanted permanence, stability. My mom stayed as long as she could, but Venusians aren't meant to stay in one place, in one form, forever. It's like asking water to stop flowing."
"That must have been hard," June said softly. "For all of you."
"It was." Elliott looked out across the pond, avoiding her gaze. "But she stayed until I was sixteen—much longer than most Venusian parents. They typically leave when their hybrid children reach adolescence. It's considered the point where we're developed enough to choose our own path."
"Choose? Between human and Venusian?"
Elliott nodded. "Some hybrids try to live fully human lives, hiding their Venusian side completely. Others spend most of their time in Venusian communities, only engaging with humans when necessary. Most of us find some balance in between."
"Which did you choose?"
"I'm still choosing," Elliott said. "Every day."
June was quiet for a long moment, processing. "Last night at the bowling alley—there were others like you. Young people. Are you all... orphans?"
"Not exactly. We have each other. The older hybrids look after the younger ones. And some have human parents who are still involved. But yes, most of us have had our Venusian parents return home."
"That seems cruel," June said. "To leave your children behind."
Elliott shook his head. "It's not cruelty from their perspective. Venusians believe that true growth comes from making your own choices, finding your own path. And they can't stay indefinitely—being in solid form for years takes a toll on them. They're not abandoning us; they're giving us freedom."
"Freedom to be stuck in Stillwater?" June raised an eyebrow.
"Stillwater is safe," Elliott said. "Anonymous. A place where hybrids can live without too much scrutiny. The bowling alley has been a sanctuary for decades."
"But don't you want more?" June asked. "To see the world, experience different things? Isn't that the Venusian side of you?"
The question hit a nerve Elliott didn't realize was exposed. "Of course I do," he said, more sharply than he intended. "But I have responsibilities here. There are younger hybrids who need stability, need protection. Someone has to stay."
June seemed taken aback by his tone. "I didn't mean—"
"It's fine," Elliott said, softening. "It's a fair question. And yes, part of me wants to leave, to explore. But the human part of me understands the importance of commitment, of seeing things through." He gave her a wry smile. "Another example of being caught between worlds."
The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the park. In the fading light, Elliott's eyes caught the glow, flashing with that otherworldly iridescence.
"Can I see the bowling alley again?" June asked suddenly. "I was so shocked last night, I didn't really take it all in."
Elliott hesitated. "It's risky. Some of the elders—the human ones who know about us—they're already worried about you knowing."
"Mr. Linden?" June guessed.
"Among others. They're protective of the community."
"I wouldn't tell anyone," June insisted. "Who would believe me anyway?"
Elliott studied her, trying to gauge her sincerity. His Venusian intuition—that pressure behind his eyes—was quiet, offering no warning. "Okay," he said finally. "But we need to be careful. No drawing attention, no questions that might seem threatening."
"Deal," June agreed, standing. "Lead the way."
As they walked toward the bowling alley in the gathering twilight, Elliott found himself watching June from the corner of his eye. Her expression was eager, curious—the look of someone discovering a new world. It reminded him of how his mother had described humans when she first arrived on Earth: boundlessly fascinated by the novel, the different.
What Elliott didn't say, what he couldn't bring himself to mention yet, was that showing June the bowling alley hadn't just broken rules—it had potentially put everyone there at risk. If word spread, if the wrong people found out...
The last time humans had discovered Venusians en masse, it had led to panic, to capture, to pain. The survivors had fled, disappearing from that region of Earth for decades.
Elliott just had to hope that June was different. That her curiosity came from a place of wonder, not fear. That she could keep their secret.
Because if she couldn't, the consequences would be devastating—not just for him, but for everyone he cared about.
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