Winfred Cowell, Smedaphites, and the Aliens

The fiery 3-o’clock sun was shining faintly across the slightly overcast sky. At the same time, silence rippled over the moderate-sized, two-storey terrace houses along the Powell Street and was quickly shattered by the harsh rumble of an engine and the crunch of gravel when a car rolled along the asphalt. Slow wind swayed the leaves with monotonous regularity, as warm as a fluffy blanket, giving mellow rustles that welcomed the birds to perch on the branches. Lying on his back idly on a chaise lounge in the yard of one house was a bespectacled boy, still clad in his school uniform, his hand clutching a gem with a book, 400-page thick, clearly emblazoned with the title “The Encyclopedia of Earth Resources” sitting on his lap, his eyes skimming the words deliberately like an avid investigator conducting a comprehensive survey. Sometimes, he allowed himself to lower the encyclopedia, eyes sagging tiredly, breathed out a deep sigh to restore himself to better concentration, and burrowed his mind back again into the content of the book. Frankly, the book was mortally boring, but for an 18-year-old boy who was now sweeping his forefinger briskly line after line down the page, he would rather use the word ‘informative’ than a negative and disheartening ‘boring’. The boy was slightly tanned and wasp thin, with short dark hair that was meticulously parted and slicked down, and a Roman nose that he inherited from his father. What’s more, he had a pair of blue eyes and dimples on his cheeks that he did not quite fancy. The boy was me, a St. Michael High School student–Winfred Cowell. ‘Whose gem is this? This is immensely bizarre!’ I muttered to myself, scrutinizing the gem the size of a tennis ball but octagonal in shape, then turned it around slowly to look for some sort of sign or characteristic that could solve the puzzle in my head. ‘It’s not even in the encyclopedia!’ After a minute or so, there was a crunch of gravel outside which cut off my train of thought, followed by the sound of a car door being swung open–a black luxurious Honda had pulled up in front of my house and soon discharged a tall, imposing figure. Shoving the glasses up my nose bridge, I let my gaze climbed the height of the car which attested to the wealth of the owner, and quickly a twinge of envy loomed inside my heart. ‘Oh god, what an expensive car!’ I thought, the sense of utter jealousy swelled in my heart. After taking off his sunglasses and stuffed it roughly into his shirt pocket, the man slammed the door shut and headed for the wrought iron gate at which a red plate that said number 5 was firmly attached. “Good evening,” he greeted warmly, holding a file, and frowning at the heat of the sun. “Is Mr. Lambert Cowell in?” “No. He’s my father, he’s still at work,” I said, shoving the gem promptly into my pocket and came up to him. “Anything, sir?” “Ya… ya, nice to meet you,” he smiled, screwing up his face at the same time. Immediately, I got the message–I was not smelling good. But ‘not smelling good’ was just a mild description, as ‘stinking to high heaven’ was the one loads suitable but offensive than the former. “I’m Mr. Blue, a friend of him. Can you please pass the file to him?” “Um…” I hesitated for a while, then came up with, “alright, not a problem.” “Thanks,” he said happily, trying with all his might not to inhale, then lowered his voice just a notch and whispered at my ear. “Why don’t you have a bath after school?” ‘It doesn’t concern you and you’d be wise to get out of my sight before I stave your face in!’ I thought scoldingly. In front of him, I managed to squeeze out an awkward smile, pretending to be matter-of-fact which was half the battle, but inwardly, I was seething with anger. Anyway, what he said was undeniable–I was just after my basketball game from school and I had not had my bath yet for at least an hour! If there was anybody strolling shoulder to shoulder with me right at the moment, I bet my bottom dollar he would say something strikingly similar to that. I put my hand to my head and realized that my hair was still sweat-drenched, though my pulse had long returned to something approximately normal. I thrust the file against my chest, took the encyclopedia and scuffed my feet straight into the living room, drained and exhausted. There was no one else in the house except me: My father, an interior decorator, was still at work in his office and would come back after five, my mom was teaching in the afternoon session, and my younger brother, Aaron, was in his friend’s house suffocating under his mountainous pile of homework. As for my elder brother, Pearce, was outside as well, but I did not get to know his whereabouts as he had strongly refused to tell me. I got upstairs and swung the door open. Damn! The weather was so hot I was sweating more like a pig! The room was too warm for my brain to function at its optimum rate, and I despised the headachy feeling which made me feel more uncomfortable. Chucking my bag impatiently to one corner, I put the encyclopedia on my desk, sank on the chair and took the gem out once again. ‘Octagonal–smooth–translucent–’ I thought, rubbing the gem. ‘Is it a gem in fact? Uh… not that I know of! I turned the gem around and studied it carefully, my jaw set in a deep, concentrated line. It was a translucent stone which was a lovely violet, with countless brownish-red mini dots revolving uniformly inside it like magic, and a small golden figure in the middle rotating on its own axis–it was odd, deliberate and in the shape of a fire.