The Day Toby Met an Alien in Roswell

Ten-year-old Toby wasn’t your typical Roswell tourist. Sure, he liked aliens as much as the next kid, but Toby believed. He devoured UFO documentaries, memorized every conspiracy theory his older brother could teach him, and spent hours sketching spaceships in his notebook. So, when his family finally took a road trip to Roswell, New Mexico, Toby practically vibrated with excitement.

Roswell was everything Toby imagined and more. Alien merchandise overflowed gift shops, cheesy alien mascots roamed the streets, and even the streetlamps looked vaguely spaceship-shaped. Toby dragged his parents, bored out of their minds, to every museum and alien-themed restaurant he could find. Then, on the last day, something incredible happened.

They were visiting the International UFO Museum and Research Center. Toby, nose practically glued to a display case filled with glowing green goo (probably alien slime, Toby was sure of it), didn’t notice his parents lagging behind. Suddenly, a high-pitched voice echoed through the room.

“Woah, that looks like it malfunctions all the time! Just like Zorg’s ray gun!”

Toby spun around to see the source of the voice. A kid, maybe a year older than him, stood there. He was about Toby’s height, with floppy black hair and oddly large, black eyes that shone like polished obsidian. He wore a jumpsuit that looked weirdly familiar, like pajamas astronauts might wear.

“Uh, hi,” Toby stammered, suddenly self-conscious. “I’m Toby. That ray gun probably does malfunction a lot. Aliens aren’t very good with technology, are they?”

The alien kid snorted. “Actually, we are! We invented faster-than-light travel, you know. My name’s Xylo.”

Toby’s jaw dropped. “An actual alien? Here? But how…?”

Xylo shrugged. “Let’s just say my family and I are on a little… field trip. Your planet is fascinating, though. Lots of blue and green, not enough purple.”

Before Toby could launch into a million questions, his parents rounded the corner. They looked at Xylo, then at Toby, their faces a mixture of confusion and suspicion.

“Toby,” his mom started, “who is this?”

“Mom, Dad, this is Xylo!” Toby blurted. “He’s an alien!”

His parents exchanged a look that clearly said, “Our son has officially gone off the deep end.” Just then, the museum lights flickered and died, plunging the room into darkness. A loud whirring sound filled the air, and a spotlight suddenly illuminated Xylo. He looked nervous, his large black eyes wide.

“Uh oh,” Xylo stammered. “Looks like my spaceship is having a meltdown again. That’s what I get for borrowing Zork’s old jalopy.”

As if on cue, the whirring grew louder, and the floor began to tremble. Toby’s parents, no longer sure what to believe, huddled behind Toby, their eyes wide with fear.

The trembling escalated into a full-blown shake. The ceiling panels groaned, and cracks snaked across the walls. Panic surged through Toby, but then, Xylo held up a hand, his eyes glowing faintly.

“Don’t worry,” he said, his voice calm despite the chaos. “We can fix this. But first, a little advice for your species: fear is a malfunctioning emotion system. It clouds judgment and prevents solutions. Trust your curiosity, work together, and remember, even aliens have bad days with their spaceships.”

With a final crackle of energy, the lights flickered back on. The shaking stopped. Xylo’s jumpsuit sputtered and sparked, then went dark. He looked sheepish.

“Well, that went well,” he muttered.

Toby’s parents stared, speechless. Xylo, now looking like a regular kid in a pajama-like jumpsuit, gave a sheepish grin.

“So, anyone up for some alien snacks? I make a mean space-guacamole.”

That night, over a dinner of glowing green gloop that tasted suspiciously like peas (alien technology clearly had its limits), Toby’s parents finally believed him. Xylo, it turned out, was the prince of a faraway planet on a school exchange program (intergalactic kind, of course). His spaceship malfunction had forced him to crash-land near Roswell.

As Xylo prepared to depart (his spaceship miraculously fixed with some chewing gum and duct tape, apparently standard alien repair tools), he turned to Toby and his parents.

“Remember,” he said, his large black eyes twinkling, “curiosity is the key to the universe. Don’t be afraid to ask questions, and never stop searching for answers. And hey, maybe next time, I’ll bring some real space-guacamole.”