"Argh!" The exceptionally annoyed little Aisha threw the paper on the floor
and stomped on it savagely.
Tsarit, aroused from deep sleep by the thumping sounds directly over his head,
took the tube to the second floor to see what the problem was. He found Zorat
pouting in her commandant's chair, six ears quivering in irritation. Tsarit's
face acquired a resigned look and he said, "What on Star-XL552S is under your
skin now?" Zorat gave no reply, but directed an if-looks-could-kill glare at
the issue of The Neopian Times lying forlornly on the gleaming chrome floor
(almost everything in an Alien Aisha spaceship is chrome).
Tsarit picked up the offending newspaper and leafed through it, scanning as
he went. "I don't see anything out of the ordinary," he said. He eyed his sister
warily. "Talk to me."
Zorat's ears drooped. "I know it's silly, but… but just look at this!" she
shrieked, rage returning. Zorat was a life form very prone to mood swings. "A
Little Lost Lupe," she read. "Lizzy Lupe Comes Home. A Tale of
Two Lupes-Transcribed. The Lupe vs. Swizzle Stick Debate." Zorat
did a double take at this one, but chose not to comment. "Lupes get way too
much publicity! I mean, really-what happened to creative writing?"
Tsarit thought about it. "You know, you're right! The last time anyone wrote
about us was Al
Abducted" (Here Zorat hid a few rude words with a cough) "and al_the_chia
really made us look like freaks!"
Zorat smothered a giggle. "You do realise he was writing about your and Zori's
side of the family?"
A brief scuffle ensued at the mention of Tsarit's wife. Both aliens emerged
hot and sweaty. Tsarit poured them both mugs of Alien Achyfi and they sat down
to consider the problem.
After ten minutes of pondering (and blowing bubbles in their mugs with straws),
Zorat broke the silence. I suppose the only solution is for me to become a world-renowned
writer and redeem our somewhat superior race in the eyes of the general populace."
Tsarit dropped his Alien Aisha Destructo-ring and quickly dived down to retrieve
it in an attempt to keep his facial expression unseen. However, the ring blew
a small hole in the floor as it touched the chrome, turning the little green
Tsarit's face black. "Drat," said Tsarit from under the table. "I forgot it
A small droid hovered into the room, fixed the hole, and left. There was an
awkward pause. "How did a repair droid from Evil Fuzzles From Beyond the Stars
get into the ship?" wondered Tsarit.
"What droid?" said Zorat blankly. Tsarit decided to drop it. "Well, Miss Expert
Writer-pants, you had better get started if you want your story in this issue.
I'm going back to bed."
"See ya," said Zorat nonchalantly, already beginning to develop her Pooglelitzer
Prize-Winner attitude. She sat down at her desk, casually draped one leg over
the side of her desk chair, and stared at her blank piece of paper, chewing
on a Chia eraser and making occasional grunting noises at the difficulty of
thinking. Finally, the words began to flow from her pen:
"The Aisha was sad. She
couldn't fly. She had been hurt in the Battledome. All the other pets
laughed because she wasn't painted. Her owner left her in the pound.
The faeries needed her to save the universe, but she had to baby-sit
her little sister, who was really a mutant working for Dr. Sloth."
Zorat sat back in her chair to study her masterpiece. She frowned, erased several
words, rewrote them exactly as they had been, drew smiley faces in all of the
O's, and grinned contentedly.
Tsarit took the tube from the first floor so fast he smashed into the chrome
Zorat flipped on her antigravity pack and floated up so she was eye-level
with him. "Here it is," she announced proudly, waving it in front of his nose.
Tsarit's face went from annoyed to puzzled as her read the short story. "The
plot sounds kind of familiar," he mumbled as he dropped to the ground, scratching
"Yeah, well, it sells," snapped Zorat, snatching her notebook away from him.
"I'm going to submit this right now. Wish me luck!"
"Luck," said the very confused Tsarit.
Three weeks later…
"All right," barked Zorat, "this is the last week I'm looking for my story
in The Neopian Times. Don't give me an aneurysm!" Tsarit jumped, realising Zorat
was talking to him and not his pet Zippy the Flaming Wuzzle, who was sitting
on the comfy chrome sofa reading Fuzzles for Dummies. But there was no time
to figure all this out-Zorat was still talking. "Now, my dear brother and his
dear combustible toy, is the moment of truth! Open the paper!"
Tsarit unfurled the latest issue of the Times with a flourish and handed it
to Zorat. She flipped to the short stories section eagerly by feel, her eyes
tightly shut. An envelope fluttered to the ground. Tsarit picked it up just
as Zorat opened her eyes.
Her smile went from excited to anxious to not there at all. "It…it isn't in
here…" said Zorat in disbelief, scanning the titles for the fifth time. "I…I
don't…I thought…it isn't in here, Tsarit! Tsarit?"
Tsarit was rolling on the floor with mirth but managed to feebly toss the
Neomail he had picked up in Zorat's direction. She retrieved it and read:
Dear Alien Zorat:
Thank you very much for entering our "Worst Story of the Millennium" competition.
We are pleased to inform you that your entry, entitled "The Sad Aisha," would
certainly have won had not we been forced to disqualify you on the grounds that
the contest is only open to citizens of Neopia, which you are obviously not.
We can only hope that you and your brother aren't illegal aliens, and you can
be sure we will check into the matter. Once again, thank you for attempting
The Neopets Team