There was a terrible storm once and lightning came in through the window. Several small creatures slid down the lightning—very fast, though they seemed not to notice that. They looked like sturdy little things although their clothes–or maybe their skin, who could tell—was diaphanous, airy and glistening, bright yellow-green like the soda Mother would never let us drink no matter how much we begged to do so. “Plasma,” Dad said, then snapped the newspaper up in front of his face again. Mother crouched down and stared at the creatures for a moment. They backed away from her a little. “Look,” she said, “I don’t know who you are or where you came from, but we’re having macaroni and cheese tonight, and if you don’t like it you’re just shit out of luck.”