Dear Amy,
Back in January 2019, and I couldn’t have been happier to welcome in a new year. Being back home for break was relaxing, but I couldn’t wait to get back to campus and reunite with my college friends. There’s only one problem. As I scrolled through Instagram I couldn’t help but notice how many of my friends were making “New Year, New Me” posts. I can only assume that means that all of them have been replaced by biometrically identical alien simulacrum. What do they want? And, more importantly, will they still like me?
Please help,
Friends and Foreign Forces
Dear Friends and Foreign Forces,
Oh boy. Is the Sundial really so desperate for audience engagement that it’s willing to answer the questions of crackpot conspiracy theorist? Yes. In fact, as a humor magazine, we’re more qualified to answer this question than any of the serious questions we’ve received. So buckle up fellow normal people. It’s about to get weird. I have scientifically produced several unique hypotheses concerning how your relationship with these aliens might pan out. It’s up to you to look for the signs and suss out the correct hypothesis.
Hypothesis I: Business as Usual
You wake up today like any other day. One quick shower and pathetic attempt at fashion later, you’re on your way to the first class of the semester. Sure, you’re not thrilled about having to take Macro Economics, but you figure it might be a useful skill later in your professional life. You head over to the library to meet one of your friends for coffee and a much needed catch up. Despite the ever-present threat of extraterrestrial life, your day proceeds without incident. Slowly days turn into weeks into months into years. You graduate from college and strike out into the world, thankful for the friendships you’ve forged and the knowledge you’ve gained. You meet new people, settle down in Duluth, Minnesota, and have two kids (both boys, two years apart, named Caleb and Clay). But you don’t forget your college buddies, getting together about once a year to reminisce about the good old times when you could drink two 40s without a second thought.
Time continues and your children grow. Soon they have families of their own. Your granddaughter lights up every room she’s in, and your son-in-law is a perfect fit for the family. Your husband dies suddenly of complications from pneumonia. He was only 68, and his passing shatters your world. On the day he dies you don’t think you can breathe, but your college friends find their way back to you, letting the comfort of nostalgia restore you. But the peace doesn’t last. Your sons blame you for their father’s passing and your family falls apart. You no longer get to see your perfect granddaughter and the loss of her light is too much for you to handle. Seven years later, a shell of your former self, you lie alone in a hospital bed, losing a battle to pancreatic cancer. As the final moments come to a close you look up and see your college friends. They have come to you in your time of need. It doesn’t matter that they are aliens. In the arms of death, nothing really matters.
Hypothesis II: Suzanne Collins Who?
You wake up today and the sky is black. Given that you live in the Midwest, this type of irregular weather doesn’t faze you. Instead, you grab your coat and umbrella and head to your first class of the semester. Sure, you’re not thrilled about having to take Macro Economics, but you figure it might be a useful skill later in your professional life. You head over to the library to meet one of your friends for coffee and a much needed catch up, but he is nowhere to be found. Instead you see your old history professor looking off into the middle distance as she clutches her cup of coffee. You didn’t much care for her class, but something about the feral desperation in her eyes draws you closer. The world is ending, she says. Succumbing to an alien invasion. One look in her eyes and you know you’ve been called into this classroom for a purpose. You are the chosen savior.
You battle your way to the stronghold of the aliens, the Student Union, and several well shot but trite actions sequences later you stand on the threshold of the throne room. You are nervous but confident. This is your destiny. You throw open the doors and storm in. At first you try to fight, but you are a weak human and they are strong biometrically identical alien simulacrums. As they grapple you, beaten within an inch of your life, an idea comes to you. They were once humans. They were once your friends. You call out to them. Pleading with them to remember all the fun you’ve had drinking 40s and sleeping through class. You see something spark in their eyes. They can see. They remember. You push further into their not-so distant memories, reminiscing about football games and last minute papers. The spark ignites and their bodies begin to burn. They were built to kill, and thus love killed them.
Hypothesis III: New Year, New World Order
You wake up today to the news of the millennia. Aliens have invaded, not only your town but all towns and cities around the world. There was no fighting, just the realization by humanity that they were outnumbered and battle would be futile. Forget Macro Economics. Forget professional development, and forget coffee with your friend. You need to hide. You run to the grocery store in a desperate attempt to grab something to live off of until the panic subsides. However, the entire country had the same thought and the shelves have been picked clean. You grab the one remaining can of generic chicken soup and head toward the exit.
As you turn the corner you run straight into an alien guard. They great you with the traditional “Hail Zoot,” but not being familiar with their ways, you don’t know to reply back “Long May Zoot Zeet.” Dissatisfied with your utter disrespect for their mighty leader, the alien shoots you.
Well Friends and Foreign Forces, I certainly hope that helps. And, if not, may the aliens spare our souls.
Best Wishes,
An anonymous Sundial member whose name definitely won’t be in the byline
Written by Hannah Wagner, Senior Staff Member