Nameless he was on earth but as he died, he reappeared on Moiromma–his home planet, at the end of the solar system, earths so called solar system. He knew dying was not death for him, rather a time for replacement. And he had died before, and always ended back up on Moiromma, eventually, normally. Almost as if it was a punishment, an end to an end, that never ended. A butcher on earth had killed him, chopped his body up, and sold his meat portions and, oh yew, if you didn’t read about it in the newspapers, then it is just as good you didn’t, it was a mess.
Uhluhtc was back, back home on his frozen and sparsely red-rock planet. The real name for his planet was after a god that had won, or was given the planet to him from his brothers eons ago, called Rahsna; as the story goes, it lead into a fight, but that’s another story, the planet was what earthlings would call ‘Ice Death,’ but really it was Moiromma, after a king and a queen of the planet, when it was not Ice Death; it was as he remembered it, the sun barely reflected its rays, on this desolated island planet, and when it did all the inhabitants would come out of their abodes for its moment of grandeur, as the sun stood still. Yes, one would absorb its rays, hues, but only small light of warmth could you expect; the rest of the time the sky was a fearsome awe, a world that had a death shadow over it, a canopy of sorts (except for a few months out of the year when it was hidden behind Cibara [a planetoid]; its own phantom like pale terrain; wherewith, it nullified everything and everybody; a planet with little horizon.
Now was his chore to let the Pack know he arrived back: should the Pack even exist anymore. As he stood there, all seven feet, four-hundred pounds of him, he stared into the night, the cold awful night sky of his planet. The planet Pluto was a distance away, he visited that particular planet a few times; it was more like a moon he thought. He could see it now, barely, but see it he could. It was on one hand, sheer refreshment and stimulation in seeing it, after forty years on earth’s egg-shaped planet; although he got to liking it, especially the changing of season of it; it was always to his dismay though he had to hide from its inhabitants.
Rigidity, he knew he couldn’t live on earth indefinitely, it was hideous trying to hide here and there and everywhere to avoid people, and then being in the gypsy circus: where people called him the pre-human the Neanderthal, the representation of a creature, a so-called creature from Mary Shelley’s book out recently called, “Frankenstein’, although in reality, he was much huger than such a creatures. That part of earth’s visit was disenchanting, it brought a gloom to his face when he recalled it, but he acquired much knowledge and experiences that would account for something he figured; all said and done, he needed to speculate in his need future, which he asked, where were his people, or the people of the planet, the Pack. When he had left here, left them, there were ten-thousand inhabitants.
That was it for the whole inhabited planet, not like earth with millions on it. Nonetheless, even though there was no birth on Moiromma, people did showed up, or come back, from a death they had on another plant. And they sometimes left behind their offspring (mixed blood, making them a hybrid for their planet), and then as they grew up, sometimes they’d show up on the planet years down the road; and within time no matter how they looked they become like them, once on the planet Moiromma that is; should they have Moiromma blood to start with also; yes, I repeat myself, they’d end up looking similar to the Moirommalit’s; a slow process, day after day and year after year, once on the planet of Moiromma.
What he did remember, and now was becoming clear in his mind was: he left the planet, his planet some forty years in the past now–it was foggy for awhile–just how long it had been, and he was the headsman, the man in charge of the Pack; yes, yes it was becoming clear, even its brutal moments. Surely he thought they must have found a new headmaster since his departure, whom would be the master warrior.
It was a windy day, forty years ago, when he went into combat with Nori Iron, a beast of a man. Taller and stronger then Uhluhtc, not more cleaver though, other than the odds being against him, he played with fate, a coldhearted game with Nori Iron that day and lost. From what he remembered, he had killed Nori Iron, with a sly blow to his heart, stopping it, and ripping it out, but during the process he was bit by Nori Iron’s sharp teeth into his jugular-vain in his neck, also killing him; hence, both fading into the morbid global-ice sheets of the planet.
Where Nori Iron went was beyond him. But normally they ended up back here somehow, somewhere, eventually. It was their way of life, fight to the death, and look for a death-kill. Sometimes upon their return they looked more ghostly than when they left, and sometimes more hideous looking than ever, as the earth people called them demons for their appearance, it was the price for resurrections, and body adjustments on other planets, it took it toll. It ripped at the character of the body, for its cell and neurological structure, biological chemistry, all had to adjust to its new surroundings, it was taxed you could say, that is why they did not commit suicide until absolutely necessary to get back to their home planet.
There was another side to why most of the planets inhabitants that were on other planets did not rush to get back home, it was a repugnant life on Moiromma, to say the least, and just knowing you’d end up back there time after time and have to fight the elements after being on earth in particular, was not a bright homecoming, as one can see at this point. No one hooting for you at the train station, for there was any trains or planes. It was like the Arctic. And the only thing to keep ones mind separated from this awful planet was to furnish stories that broke one’s imagination, thus swallowing one up so he did not have to face the reality of this arctic planet.
He could remember many stories of his clansmen coming back and sharing them. He wished he could have done as much. But who would want to hear about a planet that used him as a freak show, Earth. That would be a classic. And to be a headsman at that, they’d all say: “Where you been, at some dance…” Life was different on Moiromma, no sex for the most part [platonic for the most part, for many had both sex parts], no one ever went to the toilet but excreted waist out of their porous that is why they had a scabby body, that also kept them warm; it was like sweat, syrup thick. magic mushroom chocolate bars
The Headsman of Moiromma (Part #5 to “The Cataverous Planets”((SF))
Nameless he was on earth but as he died, he reappeared on Moiromma–his home planet, at the end of the solar system, earths so called solar system. He knew dying was not death for him, rather a time for replacement. And he had died before, and always ended back up on Moiromma, eventually, normally. Almost as if it was a punishment, an end to an end, that never ended. A butcher on earth had killed him, chopped his body up, and sold his meat portions and, oh yew, if you didn’t read about it in the newspapers, then it is just as good you didn’t, it was a mess.
Uhluhtc was back, back home on his frozen and sparsely red-rock planet. The real name for his planet was after a god that had won, or was given the planet to him from his brothers eons ago, called Rahsna; as the story goes, it lead into a fight, but that’s another story, the planet was what earthlings would call ‘Ice Death,’ but really it was Moiromma, after a king and a queen of the planet, when it was not Ice Death; it was as he remembered it, the sun barely reflected its rays, on this desolated island planet, and when it did all the inhabitants would come out of their abodes for its moment of grandeur, as the sun stood still. Yes, one would absorb its rays, hues, but only small light of warmth could you expect; the rest of the time the sky was a fearsome awe, a world that had a death shadow over it, a canopy of sorts (except for a few months out of the year when it was hidden behind Cibara [a planetoid]; its own phantom like pale terrain; wherewith, it nullified everything and everybody; a planet with little horizon.
Now was his chore to let the Pack know he arrived back: should the Pack even exist anymore. As he stood there, all seven feet, four-hundred pounds of him, he stared into the night, the cold awful night sky of his planet. The planet Pluto was a distance away, he visited that particular planet a few times; it was more like a moon he thought. He could see it now, barely, but see it he could. It was on one hand, sheer refreshment and stimulation in seeing it, after forty years on earth’s egg-shaped planet; although he got to liking it, especially the changing of season of it; it was always to his dismay though he had to hide from its inhabitants.
Rigidity, he knew he couldn’t live on earth indefinitely, it was hideous trying to hide here and there and everywhere to avoid people, and then being in the gypsy circus: where people called him the pre-human the Neanderthal, the representation of a creature, a so-called creature from Mary Shelley’s book out recently called, “Frankenstein’, although in reality, he was much huger than such a creatures. That part of earth’s visit was disenchanting, it brought a gloom to his face when he recalled it, but he acquired much knowledge and experiences that would account for something he figured; all said and done, he needed to speculate in his need future, which he asked, where were his people, or the people of the planet, the Pack. When he had left here, left them, there were ten-thousand inhabitants.
That was it for the whole inhabited planet, not like earth with millions on it. Nonetheless, even though there was no birth on Moiromma, people did showed up, or come back, from a death they had on another plant. And they sometimes left behind their offspring (mixed blood, making them a hybrid for their planet), and then as they grew up, sometimes they’d show up on the planet years down the road; and within time no matter how they looked they become like them, once on the planet Moiromma that is; should they have Moiromma blood to start with also; yes, I repeat myself, they’d end up looking similar to the Moirommalit’s; a slow process, day after day and year after year, once on the planet of Moiromma.
What he did remember, and now was becoming clear in his mind was: he left the planet, his planet some forty years in the past now–it was foggy for awhile–just how long it had been, and he was the headsman, the man in charge of the Pack; yes, yes it was becoming clear, even its brutal moments. Surely he thought they must have found a new headmaster since his departure, whom would be the master warrior.
It was a windy day, forty years ago, when he went into combat with Nori Iron, a beast of a man. Taller and stronger then Uhluhtc, not more cleaver though, other than the odds being against him, he played with fate, a coldhearted game with Nori Iron that day and lost. From what he remembered, he had killed Nori Iron, with a sly blow to his heart, stopping it, and ripping it out, but during the process he was bit by Nori Iron’s sharp teeth into his jugular-vain in his neck, also killing him; hence, both fading into the morbid global-ice sheets of the planet.
Where Nori Iron went was beyond him. But normally they ended up back here somehow, somewhere, eventually. It was their way of life, fight to the death, and look for a death-kill. Sometimes upon their return they looked more ghostly than when they left, and sometimes more hideous looking than ever, as the earth people called them demons for their appearance, it was the price for resurrections, and body adjustments on other planets, it took it toll. It ripped at the character of the body, for its cell and neurological structure, biological chemistry, all had to adjust to its new surroundings, it was taxed you could say, that is why they did not commit suicide until absolutely necessary to get back to their home planet.
There was another side to why most of the planets inhabitants that were on other planets did not rush to get back home, it was a repugnant life on Moiromma, to say the least, and just knowing you’d end up back there time after time and have to fight the elements after being on earth in particular, was not a bright homecoming, as one can see at this point. No one hooting for you at the train station, for there was any trains or planes. It was like the Arctic. And the only thing to keep ones mind separated from this awful planet was to furnish stories that broke one’s imagination, thus swallowing one up so he did not have to face the reality of this arctic planet.
He could remember many stories of his clansmen coming back and sharing them. He wished he could have done as much. But who would want to hear about a planet that used him as a freak show, Earth. That would be a classic. And to be a headsman at that, they’d all say: “Where you been, at some dance…” Life was different on Moiromma, no sex for the most part [platonic for the most part, for many had both sex parts], no one ever went to the toilet but excreted waist out of their porous that is why they had a scabby body, that also kept them warm; it was like sweat, syrup thick. magic mushroom chocolate bars