The following was an entry submitted to Galaxy Lit’s non-fiction writing contest:

Contest Theme: An important event in your life
Genre: non-fiction
Maximum Words: 1000 words
Submission Date (Earth Calendar): February 14, 2356
Contest Entrant #: 3147

He wore the costume of some ancient prophet known as “Elvis.” I don’t know what religion that is, but his officiant papers were in order. Mela, putting her own spin on Earth customs, wore a super-tight white bikini. Damn near caused three accidents in front of the casino.

We were about to say our vows when I spotted an aircar speeding towards us. Mela’s dad! He’d never liked me—and sure as hell didn’t want me marrying his daughter. Then the vessel backfired. Clearly, it was Earth-made, which ruled out Mela’s dad.

“It’s the World Police!” Mela shouted; “Didn’t I tell you to bribe the officials?”

“They wanted a ton of money,” I shouted back as we ran towards Mela’s aircar.

For those not familiar with Earth politics, it was in the middle of a huge alien backlash. Given the quality of Earth cars, you’d think imports would be the concern. But no, the hot-button issue was alien women. In ancient times people thought aliens had six eyes and tentacles. They were wrong, of course—intelligent species everywhere evolved to look strikingly similar.

What many of you may not know is that women on certain planets are much more voluptuous than their Earthling counterparts. They’re also known for having voracious appetites in the bedroom. “Headache” apparently isn’t a term known to certain alien dialects.

This led to a rash of Earth men marrying “ugly” alien women—the ones who had trouble getting husbands on their home planets. Signs reading “Earth Marriage Is Between Earthlings” popped up everywhere. The Earth legislature responded with a series of laws to curtail mixed-world marriages. Only a limited number were allowed, and they worked on a lottery system.

Las Vegas was the one loophole. From every corner in the universe visitors came to the city where whatever happens stays there. Afraid of losing the tax revenue generated by gambling tourism, lawmakers carved out an exemption for Las Vegas. Weddings held there were legally valid—even mixed-world ones—provided they were performed by a licensed religious official. Officiants of every faith flocked there, and the City of Sin became an eloping sanctuary.

Earth’s president was damned if he was going to let these illegal marriages take place. He’d been elected to carry out the law, so he sent the World Police to stop these weddings before they became official. Mela’s dad probably found out about ours and tipped them off. I jumped into the passenger seat of Mela’s aircar. On Bersa, that’s the pilot’s seat. I’d never driven her car before, but it’s universally accepted that men are better drivers, so without hesitation, I hit the ignition and we launched. I wasn’t used to flying from the wrong side and I nearly took out Elvis before crashing into a statue. Neither of us was hurt, but we were quickly apprehended.

Earth laws can be strange. Conspiring to elope with an alien can land you in prison. But if you finish the ceremony, the marriage is official and you’re free to live happily ever after. I got jail time, and the casino filed a lawsuit for the cost of a replacement statue.

Mela was supposed to have been deported but somehow, she found a way to visit me. Through the prison phone, she said, “Make love to me.” My jaw dropped. Alien women had a reputation, but wow! “If we’re married, Bersa will grant you asylum.” I just stared. “You do still want me, don’t you?” I continued to stare. “It’s part of Bersa law! Unmarried pregnant women are automatically married to the father. I’m very fertile, so let’s get to it.”

“But…” I gestured to others in the jail.

“Earthlings are so ridiculously modest,” she said, shaking her head.

“But…” I tapped on the impenetrable glass.

“No barrier can stop an ovulating Bersan.” She smiled and held up a certificate with, Conjugal Visit printed across the top in fancy script. “See what a little bribe can do.”

“But… But… Your dad’s on Bersa. He probably reported us to the police.”

“Don’t worry about him. With grandchildren he’ll turn into your Earth pussycat.”

That’s how I came to live on Bersa with Mela and baby Zerba. Mela’s father became president of Make Bersa Great Again and disowned us. And no one on this planet wants to hire an uncouth Earthling.

To whoever is judging this contest: I beg you. Please. Along with paying for a statue, Mela wants another baby. I need to win this contest just to pay for diapers.

Damon Yeargain has had numerous short stories accepted for publication. He tends to place characters in difficult situations to see what unfolds: sometimes humorous, sometimes inspiring, but always worth the ride.