The Invasion - Influenced by the movie.

        Everything is still. This eerie silence diffuses everywhere. The sole sanctuary from the unearthly silence is that of my own mind. But I can’t do it any longer. Something has happened. Something is wrong. And like in my childish nightmares, nobody will listen to me. Nobody believes me. It would make more sense if I actually knew what was wrong. All I know is that something isn’t right, isn’t right, isn’t right. I am afraid of the calm, this unnatural calm that seems to have taken over everybody. There is nothing necessarily the matter with it – except that it is not natural. It is not human.
        I have been locked up in my house for several days, every since I saw what they did if you showed any emotion, if you broke that emotionless mask. People have called me, their voices sound different. You can hear the smiles through the receiver and you can feel the icy cold of the lack of human emotion. They have become mere shells of their former selves. Hollow shells devoid of sentiment. Devoid of love and the capacity to love. Devoid of anger, fear, devoid of those imperfections that make up our race.
        But I can’t keep it up. Some have come to ring my doorbell to invite me out. Asking me whether I was feeling ‘under the weather ’ and insisting on making me a drink. I play the game, but I know they know. They know I am still afraid. They know I am still me.
        Hands shaking, I unlock and unbolt the door and join the flawless world outside. I drive to work and greet everybody I meet with a smile. They enquire as to how I am feeling and whether I was sure to drink a lot of fluids. ‘Yes’ I reply ‘People were so kind as to come over and make me tea.’ That would satisfies them and after exchanging pleasantries, I politely excuse myself and continue.
        The city is quiet. The streets are chock full but there is none of the usual noise that characterises the town. People are walking on the correct side of the pavement, cars are waiting patiently, the pedestrians flow in an endless stream of impeccably tailored suits and leather briefcases. And always, always that blank face, that expressionless mask with the corners of the mouth turned up in some semblance of a smile.
        I follow the crowd. I try to do the same, I am forcing myself to keep my face blank. To stop myself from bursting into tears and imploring them to snap out of this horrendous phantasm, to scream and hit them in the hope of sparking some natural sentiment. But I continue to follow the crowd. I look them in the eyes to show them that I am like them. That I have nothing to hide. All the while my heart is beating like mad inside it’s cage. I am afraid. I am afraid that they can hear my heart knocking or the blood rushing in my ears. I can feel a bead of perspiration forming on my forehead. Look them in the eyes. A child passes by. His gaze lingers. His parents look at me and they stop. Suddenly, I am surrounded by people staring at me. They can see the proof of my fear in the form of that salty sweet sweat on my forehead. They can smell that salty sweet sweat. They can smell that salty sweet fear.