How Much Exercise Does A 7 Year Old Husky Need The Account of: Nori Iron from Moiromma [Part 7 to, "The Cadaverous Planets"]

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The Account of: Nori Iron from Moiromma [Part 7 to, "The Cadaverous Planets"]

The Planet Moiromma

[And the Moon Ice Cap]

[Letter of account–March 24, 1903] I, Nori Iron from the planet called Moiromma now growing of old age in the jungles of what is known as Guatemala, by an ancient Mayan city called Tikal, I am writing this account of my home planet, I do hope my memoirs are readable for those who may find them in the future. I have now been on earth for some fifty-years, and to be quite honest, I do not feel I will last much longer. I have learned how to write Spanish and English during these years, as well as keeping up with my language. And so to my friends whom may find me from Moiromma, if anyone ever does, I say, ‘Hal awe-lo way [peace be with you].’

The people of earth are not convinced there are aliens on their planet, and all the better for it, I think they’d go hysterical if they did. In addition I think their economy would crash, simply because of panic–everything seems to be connected to Wall Street, they are not ready for such things; to be honest, they are better off believing in this man named Darwin, who has some theories on evolution, quite interesting, if not down right eidetic scientific, and would be a good science fiction yarn to tell the folks back home. I don’t think he believed in it himself, but since everyone else does, I mean believes in it, and a person has got to make a living, so I suppose why not go along it. But back to what I was about to say in my account of my life here on earth. I was born–according to earth time, 439-years ago. And I have hidden in these damn jungles for a very, very long time; I am going eerie-mad to be quite frank. According to them, the earthlings, I look as what they call “The Missing Link.” Some creature between man and monster I do believe, and they got pictures of me running through the jungle like a jackrabbit.

I have what the folks call: the fever, some kind of virus or germ got me. It is a mixture of several things I understand. I do, or have stayed alive on human flesh these past years, rather tasty: wish we had it back home, but then back home I never go tired, or that hungry; it is a sweet and mellow tasting meat. And the blood is so warm. But as I was going to say, our planet at the end of earths so called solar system, is our planet, a somewhat dead planet for the most part now, and a little larger–if at all–than their moon; which seems to have a powerful gravitational pull against earth; so much so, it moves the great bodies of water to the point it rubs against the ocean floor, thus, causing friction to the point it energies the satellite disc which in turn creates it energy for its orbit, and moves the moon farther away from earth, at a faster speed. Our moon does not have such a pull of Moiromma [Ice Cap], but then it is quite a lot farther away than their moon is. To my guess there moon is some 240,000 miles in orbit around their planet, where as Ice Cap is three times that distance.

Oh well, oh well, sweat and tragedy, it was all predicted by Tfarcevol, he was one of our great philosophers during my time; that is, my youthful years on Moiromma. He said to us many years ago: ‘…our planet cannot sustain an abundance of life anymore, and therefore some must be sent to other planets [intellectuals for the most part, and engineers, artists and scholars were sent then, when I was just acquiring formal reasoning I suppose, but than we do grow quite fast]; yes, we sent our elite, our educated to other planets, to preserve our race. And for those who would stay, could maintain a home there for as long as Moiromma would allow it. Well, this is what took place, and starvation and war crept in, and then a warrior named Uhluhtc, a vile and hideous creature took the remaining of the peoples and united them, killing any who would not surrender to his will; I’m sure if he ever returned to the planet, he has a different story to tell everyone; I often wonder if he was here, here on earth, I often got that funny feeling he was. He was like a dictator. The only good thing he provided was security for his people. I tired to fight him, and he killed me, and I reappeared here on earth. That’s an old story just getting older.

We have a moon linked to Moiromma, but in reality it is not a moon, rather an Asteroid-moon, it has its own orbit, and it has an atmosphere believe it or not, not like the earths moon, no air at all; but then you got to have water, as does a comet and our asteroid. A dark and porous rock in the sky is all it really amounts to, about one fifth the size of our planet, and more glacier like than our planet which is saying a lot, and that my friends is saying something beyond eerie, as it sounds you will never understand unless you go there, I liked seeing it in the sky though, the asteroid-moon, now and then–at twilight–it was a little dot, but our eyes are good and se can magnify them somewhat by staring and adjusting, we had a grayish kind of twilight, a light gray that shifted into a dark gray, and then into dusk. Also our arctic planet with its eerie red dots circling its surface is mostly of iron mixed with other minerals. We do have some venomous creatures there also, ice rats, and ice worms, when you can find them, they taste good, and I actually miss them, like peanuts, crunchy.

I have looked in and around Tikal quite a lot, and I’ve noticed in one of its lower temples two stone masks that are the size, I mean height of about twelve-feet, caved rather well. The inhabitants do not know where they came from, but I do. They are some twenty-thousand years old, to be exact. They look exactly like our forefathers from Moiromma. Who were also involved with the Mu-men of the Pacific Continent some 15,000-years ago; until the Saturn and Mercurynites stepped in and took over. Oh well, they still got some of our blood I’m sure of that, and whoever they cohabited with, has also got our blood, a pinch of it anyway; I can see it in the flat faces of the pictures I’ve witnessed on the stones on this island called ‘Easter Island.’

[Nor Iron now lies back by two stone carvings called stala’s along a dirt roadside: he is weak from malaria, and time is short. One stala is a round wheel shaped stone disc, with writings on it, Maya stone art; the other more like a grave marker, or taking the shape of one; that is, rounded on the top, and more square on the bottom. Nor Iron moves the round one a bit, about a ton of weight, and hides behind it. His body is turning greenish. It is a hot, hot day, and his body which normally keeps it cool throughout its thickness and blood, is losing its capability to continue its work load in breaking down the heat, although he has learned how to deal with it quite well, his thick blood is curling and moving too slowly through his veins; the hotter it gets, the thicker it gets, the slower it works to protect him from his body going into shock; he is shivering with the fever, dehydrating fast.]

[Letter Two] I just woke up, no one saw me sleeping. I took a pencil from the campers when they went on their excavations. I do it all the time, and write, write whatever is on my mind. At night I listen to them talk, and learn about their ways. I only kill when I’m hungry, and I do it quickly, and usually when one of the natives or archeologists, or anthropologist, or geologist go for a swim; I hide in the bushes and wait until they go and excreta their waste. That normally puts them off guard. I have gained 200-pounds since I came to earth. I was only 250 pounds on Moiromma, quit thin for being over eight foot tall. [Pause to rest and look for something to eat.]

Nora saw a long slim rodent of sorts, about two-foot long, with beady eyes, and a long tail, almost as big as a small dog, husky looking, it was limping, as if it was in battle with another creature, and was almost slain, he grabbed it by its neck and with his powerful hands, yet weakening, broke its neck: then ripped open its belly, and started eating its insides–chewing the raw meat, and spitting out the parts he didn’t’ like. Then he broke the spine of the creature, as if it was a wishbone, and sucked the marrow out of its spinal cord.

The Dying

“Everyone has mistaken me for a beast in the jungle,” he acknowledges out loud to himself, somewhat delirious. “Yes, O yes,” he continues behind the stone stala eating his long slim rodent, talking to himself as he writes: “I have been going crazy these last few years, no people, no one to talk to but the birds, and the plants. At first it didn’t’ bother me, but it does get to you after a while. I am a man with no doors to open, that is, none without having to be prepared for battle. I eat corpses day after day after day after day–but prefer fresh meat, warm blood. I creep up to some of the folks camping, behind them lurking in the thick of the jungle, down hidden in the underbrush, and when least expected, I pull them out from under their covers, or tents, or whatever. Before they know what is happening, they are next to dead. Sometimes this moon gives me away, some kind of refraction of light, not like on Moiromma, where our Asteroid-moon gives very little light from the core of our sun, or distant stars. Yes, you have to be swift, as swift as a lizard grabbing a fly with his magical tongue

I am clumsy for the most part, being so big and broad. I remember once a priest in the jungle here, nearby doing an exorcism on some native, thinking I was inside of him, I guess I was the demon he was so fearful of. It was kind of nice to have that kind of power, that fear power, that distance and approaching fear power: how would I ever fit myself into them small creatures called humans; my gosh, it is unthinkable, they give the devil too much credit, or them invisible demon. To my understanding these demons were created in what they call, or maybe what I call their pre-Satanic age, a long time ago. The humans have funny eyes, they can’t even see the demon, I can, I can see everything, and everybody. Sometimes the demon are standing a foot away from the humans and do not say a word. Sometimes they smell so bad I can’t believe they can’t smell them, thus knowing their presence is close. I have even talked to a few of the demon, such as one named: Gusoyn, a cocky sort of fella, but good looking for a demonic being I suppose, and muscular, he has a flat affect–doesn’t smile a lot, with a homosexual desire. Whereas, his friend is fat and ugly, and likes the native women; maybe their bisexual now that I think of it. In any case, they have always left me alone, not sure if I’m worth their time I think they think I’m too easy a pry. Anyhow, the priest died some years back: dying I think of what I am dying of, this disease from those damn mosquitoes. I wish Tfarcevol, our great thinker of our planet was here, and he’d give me a way out of this damn delirium of a disease.

His name, the priest that is, his name was Father Padro, not sure he had a last name, that is all I ever heard them call him; besides his name, he brought many people to his little church in the jungle. I avoid killing holy men, Tfarcevol, and those before him, the great thinkers, the seers if you will, the men who are of a high order of sprits, we never killed them before, why start now, that is what I’ve told myself all these years, and the priest was of that order I do believe–in essence we revered them, they had a special duty you know: a mission in life, and it is not wise to get in their way, I have never forgot them teachings. For there is but one God of all the living things, this I do know for certain, so again, if He sent him down to do a mission, who am I to get into his way: I am like a ice-worm to such a God.

All said and done, what I did do in place of killing him, and not for spite, but for hunger, I ate his sister. Funny thing happened, he went into a great and long depression thereafter, every night walking the jungle alone, without any weapons, and I saw him, but I never touched him. It bothered him immensely that I would not kill him.

Our great philosopher, Tfarcevol once said:

“We are people of Moiromma; we have inherited from our fathers the ability to die one hundred times, before the shock of real death takes us, kind of a preparation possibly for the real thing.”

I was never told the full story of our ancestors, so I will have to leave this for someone else to fill in. But as I was about to say, this is my second death coming up, I do hope I will reappear on Moiromma, although I like earths temperatures better, I do not like its inhabitants. Getting back to the old priest, to me his sister was no more than a perilous mishap, for him that I ate her in that he went into a prolonged melancholy of sorts: looking in the stars for reasoning, when there was just hunger, and availability. No one felt sorry for me roaming the jungles alone, so I can’t really feel sorry for him. Yes, I repeat myself, for me she was just a meal, and rich in taste, a bit bony, but I liked her bone marrow, and so forth and so on. And so you see we had in the jungle a holy church, which I must point out before I die, before I’m dead, yes dead as dead can be on this wizardly planet called Earth. And you see, as I lay dying here, no demon, no priest, no native, no anybody to comfort me, so I should feel for my victims? Not today friend, not today. I see now the demon I was talking about before, I think I mentioned his name, I forgot it now, I’m really weak, dying, he’s talking to the priest: yes, yes this demon is talking to that priest, the one who had a sister I ate. He is telling the Priest, who I think wants revenge, he is saying:

“I can kill the beast for you and you will be done with him, for a price.” You see, the demon knows I’m dying and is cleaver, making a deal where he does not have to do much, if any work. And the priest shouldn’t even be talking with the likes of him–but he is; but I still will not violate my values, and kill him, and I could leap up and do so.

Well, in a few minutes I’ll be dead anyhow. The priest is now paying him (I think later on he will regret what he did, he is mad at his God right now, the demon knows how and when to stick a throne in a persons side, and he’s walking over towards me now–he has manifested himself fully, looks a ting ordinary, ugly, but some humans can be quite ugly also; he will see I am dead, and say: ‘services rendered,’ and will please his masters in Hell and take away the special mission the priest was given by the Most High…cleaver, and the priest will most likely comment suicide feeling this is the worse thing he could have done. And the demon will have a party tonight, as I’ve often saw them do. Cleaver they are.

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