They’re just little flashes of light. You can only see them when you squint or look sideways into the sky. That doesn’t make them any less there. Don’t get me wrong, don’t discredit me,  just because you don’t see them.

I see them.

They’re waiting. Watching. Learning.

They don’t want us to know they’ve come. They want us to think they don’t exist. They’d like you to keep them in movies and in books, on T-shirts and bumper stickers. It only makes it easier for them.

You’ll never see it coming. You don’t even see it now. Even if you do, you’ll tell yourself it was something else.

A glint of light off a Mylar balloon.

Maybe it’s the shadow of the cones in your eye, a sudden response of the photosensitive ganglion cell, or possibly it’s the microscopic, white blood cells swimming through the vessels in your retina that cast those tiny, silver and white dots in the distance.

Maybe you imagined it.

Maybe you saw nothing at all.

But I know.

They’re out there, waiting just outside the atmosphere, having their alien-tea or human blood, or whatever extra-terrestrial soldiers do when laying a benign siege to a foreign planet.

I know too well.

So, next time you stare up into a cloudless, blue sky and you see that cluster of dots, know… you’ve already been invaded.