Free When Aliens Weep by J. K. Accinni

sobering again with a look of pity. He reached out to her shoulder as if to pick off a piece of lint. He held out his hand for her to see.
    There, resting in his palm was a thick strand of blond hair. He dropped it in her lap and plucked another strand off her shoulder.
    In a panic, she reached up to find her hair missing, minor clumps still adhering to her scalp. She trailed her quavering fingers through them, her face crumbling as they fell out into her hand. Her face dissolved into quiet tears, her shuddering frame announcing the final degrading humiliation as she stroked the useless strand of her female identity and femininity.
    She looked up as the man, with a bashful look, knelt down and hesitantly took her into his good arm.
    “I know it’s harder for a woman. I’m sure it’s quite a shock. But we’re both still alive. Hold on to that. I think we have bigger problems, right now. We can help each other. I know I’m sure grateful as all hell to find I’m no longer alone.”
    Her sobbing abated in his embrace. He was right. At least she wasn’t alone anymore. The terrors had receded a bit. She pulled away from him to look into his face. She studied the honest planes of his bones and realized what an attractive man he was, maybe a few years younger than her.
    “I know you’re right. It was . . . just a shock.” She rubbed her traces of tears away and tried to smile. “Bad timing, I guess.”
    She glanced across the room to her pallet. She could see traces of her blond glossy hair littering the floor and her bed. She glanced back at the man’s pallet. It was a mess with strewn covers, dried gruel from old portions of the protein slop they gave them to eat and water spilt everywhere from his water container that lay on its side.
    “Well . . . I guess we can’t cry over spilt milk, as they say. That goes for hair and water too.” She gave a big sigh then turned back to her new companion, straightening her shoulders. “I’ll be okay, thanks.” She gave him a tiny smile.
    He smiled back. “Atta girl.” Together they rose to their feet, he wobbly, and she steadier.
    “Why don’t we move our stuff together?” she suggested. “We need to clean this place up. Then we need to take stock and try to make some kind of a plan. Agreed?” The man nodded his agreement and, with her help, gathered everything salvageable to carry over to her part of the room where they arranged their pallets side-by-side. A defense of two. Bald and broken but a defense none the less.
    An hour later, they had cleaned up her area and arranged their pallets to their liking. They both quietly wondered what their hosts would make of the new arrangement and whether it might have any deleterious effect for them.
    “Hey you . . . I’m beat with just that little work.” Ginger Mae sat on her pallet and watched the man shove his broken water bottle in the corner with the rest of their small pile of detritus. He turned and gave her his now characteristic quiet grin. She watched it transform his face, lighting up his eyes.
    “How long are we going to go on calling each other, Hey you?” he asked, his smile widening.
    She reddened, her eyes becoming slits as she looked down at her legs. “Sorry. I guess we need to fix that somehow.”
    He watched her, amusement now dancing gaily on his face. “Well, why don’t I name you and you can name me? I think that would work just fine,” he suggested.
    Getting into the spirit, newly bald Ginger Mae clapped her hands. “Okay. What should we name me?”
    The man cocked his head and thought. “I have a name that just popped into my head. It’s a pretty name, I think you’ll like it. It’s a happy name.”
    She shrugged her shoulders. “Let me have it,”she said with reservation .
    “ How about, Bonnie?”
    Ginger Mae tapped her finger against her chin in thought. “I like it. It’s comfortable. And a happy name. Bonnie it is.”
    “And how about me?” The man looked hopeful.
    Ginger Mae