Salvadore Dalí and the Alien Foster Father

Prompt - A Gun to the Head (60 seconds). Your main character is in a life-and-death situation, a gun to their head. Write out their internal thoughts or their final monologue in that moment, their final 60 seconds. Try to convey the frenetic energy and chaos they are experiencing. Bildungsroman is a literary device whereby the plot is played out through the growth and changes of the main character. This might be a social, physical, emotional, moral, or mental change. In the case of flash fiction, the change needs to be accelerated, like the final thoughts running through the mind of a character with a gun to their head. NOTE: It’s possible to read 200 words in 60 seconds.

Note: This is a rare bit of fan fiction. :-)

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    The alien serving as my Foster Father spoke. “It will take a minute to charge. But when it fires it will silence your thoughts, and stop your heart. We will revive you after 37 seconds.”

    “Why 37?” I asked, glad a human medic was standing watchfully by. I trusted Foster Father, but he was concerned that he didn’t yet understand human physiology well enough to bring me safely back.

    “Tradition. That is how long our first foremother stopped her daughter’s heart in order to gain the trust of her rival clan. After that, they created a treaty that still stands today.”  He pointed at one of the paintings on the wall. "I painted this to represent that parent-child bond."

    I nodded, and he continued. “This ritual will cement your trust in our family and society and help you confront death, for no one can be an adult without understanding their own mortality. It is what marks full adulthood in our culture.”  He lifted the device to my head, and I felt him speak directly to my thoughts. Lizbet, are you ready? 

    “Yes.”

    With steady hands, he pulled the trigger, which started charging the device.

    Will it hurt? I can’t believe I agreed to do this. The passage to adulthood rite. Passage rite. Rite of passage. Rite. Right? What if they are unable to revive me? What do I do if it doesn’t work? Mom’s gonna kill me is this is it worth it?  Will it hurt? What happens when I wake up?  Will Star Fleet court marshal me they didn’t authorize this, but I did bring the medic.  It’s going to hurt I don’t want to die. I hope there are no bullets in that thing. His hand isn’t shaking at all oh my god oh my god. When is it going to happ— 

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    Lizbet.

    “Yes, Foster Father?” I said, but it came out slurred. Yesh, Fosher Fozherrr.

    Lizbet, he repeated, not seeming worried. Use my language.

    I had to think about that.  “I did. I said, ‘Yes, Foster Father.” I tried to enunciate but wasn’t sure if I was any easier to understand.

    Much better.  Now, are you ready to help us sign the treaty? We are ready to join your Federation.

    “Yes,” I said, opening my eyes. The medic was relaxed now and looking avidly at Foster Father’s artwork adorning the Rite room’s walls. 

    Foster Father was patient as thoughts and senses returned, and then he helped me up, and we left to join the ambassadors in the formal meeting room across the courtyard. “Who is ‘Dalí’?” he asked aloud, reading my thoughts and probably those of the medic’s.

    “A human surrealist painter,” I said, feeling myself smile. “You’ll like his work. I’ll show you pictures later.”

    “That would be excellent,” Foster Father said.

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Notes: I wrote most of this bit of Star Trek fanfic in May of 2021, but couldn't figure out how it should end. Inspiration hit in January 2025, and I added the waking up section then.