
Canto Twenty-Three – On the Terrible Surface Amidst the Ruined Palaces
The tadpoles had been totally on edge for half an Earther hour by the time they reached the bio-dome that Sizzahl had guided them towards. Only Tanith and Davalon had been trusted enough to carry skortch rays, and Tanith had nearly disintegrated the grav-cart by which they were moving the precious plants merely because she heard a loud, un-explained sound from the near distance.
But the door to the bio-dome was in sight. It appeared that they were going to make it without seeing, hearing, smelling, or even suspecting the presence of those nasty, horrible scabbies that Sizzahl had warned them about.
“What is that sound that sounds like claws clicking on concrete?” said Brekka through her helmet. “It sounds real close!”
Tanith whirled around and skortched a stone gargoyle drain-spout.
“Not there!” cried George Jetson, “It is behind us and coming fast!”
The dinosaur-like creature the scabby was riding disappeared in a fog of disintegrating atoms as Tanith whirled and fired. The scabby landed on Tanith and drove her down into the rubble at their feet. Davalon immediately launched himself onto the crazed lizard-man’s back, grabbed him around the throat and rolled him headfirst to the ground. As it was momentarily stunned, Davalon lifted Tanith and carried her towards the rest of the group.
“Look out!” cried Brekka. “There’s another one!”
The second was not a lizard-man, scabby or otherwise. It was some kind of mechanical man made of corroded and discolored metal. It had blades instead of hands, and it leaped on the prostrate lizard man, cutting, filleting, and murdering the scabby.
“It’s rescuing us!” cried Menolly in surprise.
“It’s going to kill you as soon as it is done with that scabby!” said Sizzahl from the shadowy doorway. “Come inside as quickly as you can and strip off every stitch of your clothes!”
Davalon was surprised, but never-the-less took action. He pushed Tanith to lead the way to the voice in the shadows. Then he forced Brekka, Menolly, and George into the shadows after her.
“Please, Dav, come with us,” said Gracie Morrell pulling on Davalon’s sleeve. Alden took hold of the other sleeve.
“Mother, I need to make sure that thing doesn’t catch up to you.”
“You may not sacrifice yourself to save us,” said Grace. “You may not!”
“You do not have permission,” said Alden.
“If you don’t come with us now,” said Gracie, “then we all stay and die together.”
“Um, Gracie…” said Alden nervously.
Davalon looked at the monster as its metal claws finished ripping the heart out of the lizard man’s lifeless corpse. Its metal visual sensors focused on the three of them. “Okay… let’s go fast!”
*****


















Upon Further Reflection…
My 60th Birthday Self Portrait
Time dictates lots of things. I am not now even the ghost of what I was back then. I look more like Santa Claus than my father or my grandfathers ever did. You may notice that, even with glasses on, I have to squint in order to see who I really am.
It is normal to do a bit of self-examination after a milestone birthday. But I never claimed to be normal. In fact, I doubt after the results of the recent election that you could say I was anything like the common man at all.
I was raised a Christian in a Midwest Methodist Church from a small Iowa farm town. But I have since become something of an agnostic or atheist… not because I don’t believe in God, but because I don’t believe anyone can tell me who God is or how he wants me to be other than me. But I am also not at the center of the universe the way most religious people believe. I believe that all people are born good and have to work at being bad by making self-centered choices and making excuses to themselves for behaving in ways that they know are wrong. God doesn’t forgive my sins because he doesn’t have to. I am tolerant of all people and most things about them. To sum up this paragraph, I am nothing like the dedicated Christians I know and grew up among. The actions of the new, in-coming government and dominant political party convince me that intolerance, self-interest, and rationalizations are the norm.
Sometimes my nose gets really red and my hair bozos out for no particular reason.
I deal with the problems of life by making jokes and forging ahead with carefully considered plans in spite of the doubts others express about my abilities, my choices, and my sanity. I prefer to do something rather than to sit idly by and do nothing. Yet, I never do anything without agonizing over the plan before I take that step. And like the recent election, things usually go wrong. I have failed at far more things in my life than I have succeeded at.
I am told I think too much. I hear constantly that I make things too complicated. People say I should do practically everything in a different way… usually their way. But I inherited a bit of stubbornness from my square-headed German ancestors. In fact, I inherited Beyer-stubborn from my Grandma Beyer. In all the time I knew her, I never saw her change her mind about anything… ever. She was a Republican who thought all Republicans were like President Eisenhower, even Ronald Reagan… but not Barry Goldwater. Someone convinced her that Goldwater was a radical. That was almost as bad as being a Democrat. I, however, have strayed from the Beyer-stubborn tradition enough to change my mind once in a while, though only after carefully considering the facts on both sides of the question. Nixon changed me from a Republican like Grandma into a Democrat. Fortunately, Grandma Beyer loved me too much to disown me.
In my retirement, I have gotten even more artistical than I was before. This is a picture of me with my fictional child Valerie.
So how do I summarize this mirror-staring exercise now that I have passed the 500-word goal? Probably by stating that I do have a vague idea of who I am. But I promise to keep looking in the mirror anyway. One never knows what he will see in the map of his soul that he wears on his face.
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Filed under autobiography, birthdays, commentary, feeling sorry for myself, humor, Paffooney, self portrait, strange and wonderful ideas about life
Tagged as Mickey, self portrait, self-reflection