A soft shaft of sunlight spilled between the partially closed blinds on Macy's bedroom windows. Morning was here yet again. A groan, the fumbling of sheets, and then the tired sounds of Macy's awakening filled the small room. Macy stood up, gently swaying with the lightheadedness the comes after standing up too quickly. She looked around her pathetic bedroom. The walls, which Macy assumed had once been white, hadn't been painted in a while and were more of a grey color, forcing a depressing air on the rest of the room's contents. Her small bed, bookshelf, and dilapidated dresser took up most of the floorspace. On her grayish walls were newspaper clippings and pictures from magazines or printed out off of the Internet. Macy had moved into apartment 1312 in the Wilshire Tower about six months ago, not long before the incident that had made most of the town's inhabitants think she was crazy. In high school, Macy had never wanted to go to college; she knew she didn't have the grades, and, honestly, she hated school. Macy had moved to this small block because her parents said simply, "Macy, you have to move out because we are going to live in Portugal." So, with little money and education, Macy found a job at the local library. There was only one thing Macy cared about, and that was books. But her fascination had recently turned towards a very specific kind of book, one that in any way discussed alien abductions or life on other planets. Macy had been pegged as the block's crazy person because she truly believed that she had been abducted by aliens three weeks ago.