“Modlovia. Prija.” The other two stood. “What seems to be the problem?”
“A new capture, your Highness,” Modlovia answered.
“Ah, yes,” the Priestess glanced at the man in the cage. “They always fight at first, don’t they?”
“Yes. They do.” Modlovia sighed. “One thing we must credit them for at least, is the courage to do that much.”
“Even though it is futile in the end,” the Priestess finished.
“We were just discussing their smell,” Prija said, her dogwood eyes wrinkled in disgust.
“Ah, yes,” said the Priestess. “It does seem to permeate everything, doesn’t it? But by the time we finish reconstructing the ozone, we shall have eliminated the odor entirely.”
The man looked at the High Priestess in disbelief. “Reconstructing the ozone? Lady, allow me to use the term loosely, that is not possible.”
The High Priestess looked at the man with amusement. “Oh, but it is. As a matter of fact, we are capable of correcting many digressions your,” she hesitated, looked him up and down, “species has committed against nature. Reconstructing the ozone layer. Replenishing the water supply. Disintegrating miles of concrete structures to replace it with trees and foliage.”
She eyed the man with a mixture of contempt. “We can even harness the energy of the sun for clean power. Among many, many other things that would be most beneficial to this planet that your kind wouldn’t even consider.”
“Will we be able to kill all the poisonous bacteria?” Prija asked. “Like the one that killed my sister, Kadeechee?”
Modlovia and the High Priestess shared a moment of silence with Prija in memory of their Revered Leader.
Finally, the High Priestess answered quietly, “We will do our best, Prija.”
The man in the cage smiled crookedly.
“Why do you smile so?” Modlovia asked.
“So the bacteria may be what wipes you all out,” he said smugly.
“You underestimate our intelligence and our technology,” said the High Priestess. “We have the ability to discern between helpful and harmful bacteria. And the means to destroy the bad and put the good to use.”
“So if you’ve got all this high-falutin’ technology, why did you leave your own planet? Why come here and kill off all of us?”
“What is this ... ‘falutin’?” Prija asked quietly to Modlovia.
“That is not important,” Modlovia said aside to her.
The High Priestess answered the man. “Our planet was dying. Rather, our star was dying. It seems our ancestors chose to colonize a star which has a much shorter lifespan than a planet. We needed a new home.”
“So, instead of finding a new planet someplace else, like, say, maybe one that wasn’t already inhabited, you decided to mass murder everybody and take this one over.”
The High Priestess looked sadly at the man. “We did you a kindness.”
The man raised his eyebrows and stared through the bars at her. “Excuse me?”
“Your species was on the verge of obliterating itself. You had been on that verge for some time. And while I would have had no objections to your species extincting itself, what I could not withstand was watching you destroy your home.
“Do you not understand?”
The man shook his head. “Not gettin’ it, lady. Again, I use the term loosely.”
“Here we were, honoring our home by not disturbing a single leaf or grain of sand upon it. Yet it was dying. A time would come when it would no longer sustain us.
“And then, here you were, with a relatively young planet compared to the vast expanse of the universe. And you were destroying it as quickly as you could, instead of honoring it as you should have.”
The man stared at the Priestess for a few moments. “Then tell me why,” he began slowly, “in the ‘vast expanse of the universe’ as you said, why did you pick this planet? Why here? You couldn’t find a planet that didn’t have anybody living on it already?”
The Priestess looked the man in the eye. “In the vast expanse of this universe, there are extremely few planets capable of sustaining life, let alone sustaining different species requiring the same or similar circumstances in which to survive. Your species and ours have the same requirements: we breathe the same air, need water and your atmosphere is close enough to ours to allow us to survive. Once we have cleaned up your mess - your air, your water, your dirt - it will be so close to our old home we may no longer miss it.”
“But why did you have to kill us all?” The man began to pace around the cage. Modlovia, Prija and the Priestess took cautionary steps back from it. “Why couldn’t we co-exist? Why did you have to wipe out six billion people?”
“Do you honestly believe your species would have tolerated us?” the Priestess asked.
The man stopped his pacing and took a good, long look at the three tall matrons. He ran his hand through his dark hair and sighed. “No. They wouldn’t.”
“It may surprise you to learn that we did attempt to do just that,” the High Priestess told him.
The man looked up at her in surprise.
“We approached what you called, what was it?” The Priestess wrinkled her eyes in concentration.
“Government,” Prija told her.
The Priestess looked at Prija in pleasant surprise. “Yes. That’s it. That is the word I am searching for. We approached your government with just such a proposition that we be allowed to co-exist among you.”
“What happened?”
“Unfortunately our emissaries were captured and suffered, what do you call it? Experimentation?”
The man’s eyes opened wide and his face turned a lighter shade of pale. “Look. I had nothing to do with that. I don’t care if you wanna live here. Really. I don’t. Look, just let me go and I’ll never bother you. I swear.”
The three exchanged knowing looks.
“Yes,” said Modlovia. “That one we have heard before.”
“When our emissaries were captured,” said the Priestess, “that was when we realized that, in order to ensure our survival, your survival must be eradicated.”
Fear was replaced with anger.
“You bitches!” The man lunged forth and grabbed through the bars of his cage.
Three pairs of dogwood-shaped eyes turned bright red.
With a scream, the man was thrust backward onto the floor where he writhed in pain. All three of the matrons stepped forward to focus their attention on the form.
It’s as if every fiber of his being was on fire. He twitched and turned, attempting to escape the onslaught but there was no escape. His body was covered in sweat and he began to convulse.
Even after the eyes had returned to their natural black color, the man in the cage continued to whimper and moan in pain.
“Have him taken him into the room,” said the Priestess.
Modlovia smiled. Now it was their turn to experiment.
“Alien rights, indeed,” she whispered savagely.
Rough Night
The wind plays kick the can
a mournful sound
at an hour such as this;
the wind chimes join the can
as do the cat’s bells,
the fridge clicks on
humming its low bass in accompaniment.
These harmonious melodies
should be light and cheery;
yet there is something ominous
in their haunting tune.
Then,
a sound I cannot identify
reaches me through the window.
I eye the curtain
with distrust:
it would be easy to thrust
the curtain aside
to peer outside
and find the source of the noise.
Somewhere in the house
a clock strikes the hour.
I count the chimes
numbering thirteen.
My legs refuse to move.
/> I am weighed down by fear;
the acrid taste of stale cigarette smoke
at the back of my throat;
but see I must and find
the source of the noise.
I creep to the curtain
heart racing like
a cracked piston.
I reach for the curtain
swiftly jerk it aside —
outside
the security light
bathes the yard
in a bilious yellow light
until the woods take over -
the dark and impenetrable trees
in which anyone can hide
in which anything can hide.
I sweep the yard with my eyes
and find the source of the noise:
a pie plate, tied
to the bottom of a wind chime
slap-slap-slapping
against the porch banister.
I survey the yard once more
then allow the curtain to drop;
more afraid of the face which might appear
than relieved at the face which is not there.
I return to my bed and the cat
with his tinkling bells
leaps upon the windowsill
to stand guard for the night.
As I lull myself into sleep
I make myself one solemn promise
One to keep and mark -
no more reading the novels
of Stephen King after dark!
About the Author
Bitten by the writing bug at the age of ten, Pen is an avid reader in addition to being a prolific writer. A native Georgian she lived in Hollywood, California for a year and a half (pursuing Film Studies – an interesting distraction) and six weeks in Asheville, NC (attempting to get herself together).
Influenced by the world around her, Pen writes whatever comes into her fuzzy little red head (currently Vidal Sassoon Merlot Vibrant Red). She writes in no specific genre as she has a variety of interests and passions about which to write.
Pen has suffered from Hidradenitis Suppurativa most of her adult life. However, she was not diagnosed with this affliction until 2012 due to the ignorance of the medical profession. She hopes to receive medical treatment soon for Stage 3 HS.
Pen resides in the Atlanta, Georgia area where she spends as much time as possible writing. She is currently awaiting adoption by a new feline/felines.
She may be contacted via the contact form on her website www.pensen.wix.com/neros-fiddle. You may also visit www.penspen.wix.com/hswarrior.
Respectfully,
Pen
From the Author
Dear Reader:
I suffer from an affliction known as Hidradenitis Suppurativa, also known as HS or Acne Inversa. You’ve probably never heard of it. That’s okay. Neither have most doctors.
HS is a foul skin condition where huge lumps form beneath the skin in sensitive areas: beneath arms and breasts, along the groin and buttocks. These lumps can grow to be as large as golf balls. They drain constantly and are painful to the point of limiting mobility and debilitation.
HS is not contagious. The cause is unknown and there is no cure. Currently, there is no research being conducted into finding a cure.
This malady not only attacks on a physical level, it assaults a person’s emotional and mental states as well. Embarrassment, shame, guilt, depression, isolation, loss of self-worth and self-esteem prevent many people from even discussing their illness.
Conservative estimates state that between 1% and 4% of the world’s population suffers from HS. That doesn’t sound like much, until you crunch the numbers: anywhere from 74,000,000 to 296,000,000 people. To put this into perspective, the population of the United States is 318,000,000.
Theoretically, HS has the power to cripple an entire nation.
I state the estimates are conservative because many people are misdiagnosed due to doctors not understanding or even knowing about Hidradenitis Suppurativa. And there are people too embarrassed or ashamed to discuss this condition with their doctors.
There is no test to determine HS because there is no research. There is no research because there is little awareness of HS among the population and little compassion for HS patients in the medical community.
And it is a vicious cycle.
Despite the debilitation of this illness, many of us HS sufferers do our best to maintain some semblance of a normal life. We go about our daily routine despite the pain, not only from our own determination, but because it is expected of us. For whatever reason, many people refuse to believe how painful and debilitating these lumps are. They don’t understand how we may not appear sick but inside we are exhausted and in pain.
We call ourselves Warriors because we fight daily to have as normal lives as possible.
There is a good chance, dear reader, that you know someone who suffers from HS. And yet you may not even be aware of it.
Please learn about this affliction. And if you do know someone, please offer them compassion and understanding for what they are enduring.
And be thankful you yourself do not endure it.
Because I wouldn’t wish HS on anyone.
Thank you.
Respectfully,
Pen
www.hsawareness.org
www.hssupport.org
www.penspen.wix.com/hswarrior
Check out these titles and more at
www.penspen.wix.com/neros-fiddle
www.penspen.wix.com/hswarrior
A little something for Everyone
T-shirts, sweatshirts, tote bags, journals, mugs, teddy bears and so much more! Original art and writing by Pen. Check it out!
www.cafepress.com/ontheqteez
www.cafepress.com/penspen
To learn more about Hidradenitis Suppurativa (a debilitating affliction I and millions of others struggle with daily), visit
www.hsawareness.org
www.hssupport.org
www.penspen.wix.com/hswarrior
Train Ride Page 8