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Greetings from Europa – Eighth Transmission: Gates of Juh’holl

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First Transmission * Second Transmission * Third Transmission * Fourth Transmission * Fifth Transmission * Sixth Transmission * Seventh Transmission

Greetings from Europa!

Before the terraforming project, Europa’s atmosphere was virtually nonexistent due to the gravity being roughly thirteen percent of Earth’s. Now, with the aid of vegetation, the atmosphere is equivalent to living in a high-altitude region on Earth, which my lungs have acclimated to when I am at rest, but I have to employ breathing techniques when attempting anything strenuous.

The only reason I’m mentioning this is that there is almost no weather here, nothing severe, anyway, no rough wind conditions, and no harsh seasons. Yet, the sky has been shifting colors ever since a Denpa brought news of the suspicious death of Rezter, a Europan from Dery’Ylok Prefecture, who was rumored to have been beaten to death by a member of Sel’tab, a tribe that was supposed to have been extinct since the assassination of the spiritual prophet Nes’Tim.

As our community listened in bewilderment, it struck me as amazing that this simple death of one Europan in a small village could affect everyone so drastically. On Earth, it was a given that deaths occurred all the time, some natural, some accidental, and others by violent crime, so much so that unbeknownst to me, I had become desensitized to it. Yet, these gentle beings were affected enough to cause fluctuations in the mild weather, which makes me wonder about the true bond between this land and the natives, a connection that I as an outsider would never experience, never be a part of, no matter how long I lived here.

To honor their father’s passing, Rezter’s children, Kubus and Veron, are making a pilgrimage, carrying their father’s corpse in an uz cu’nal from Dery’Ylok Prefecture to the peak of Pwyll to place the body in front of the fossilized remains of Nes’Tim and pray for their father’s entry through the Gates of Juh’holl, where Europan souls are released from the flesh and become stardust in order to rejoin the universe.

As is tradition, families along the way have opened their homes to Kubus and Veron, offering food, aid and sleeping accommodations to help them along the way.

Very soon, Kubus and Veron will be passing through our village and in addition to offering them a place to rest, my youngest son, Jampi, wants to accompany them on their journey. To my surprise, his mother signed off on it and both my daughters are in agreement, so if Kubus and Veron are amenable to the idea, our family will join the pilgrimage and lend our voices to help open the gates to Juh’holl for Rezter.

If I haven’t mentioned it before, although they’re adopted, I really love my children. And though I’m not supposed to have a favorite, Jampi’s in the lead by a country mile.

But don’t tell the others, as these things are subject to change.

Until next broadcast, this is Captain Edwards, signing off.

To be continued…

Text and Audio ©2014 & 2021 Rhyan Scorpio-Rhys

Glossary of Terms

  • Abogzons – Gynecological engineers.
  • Cu’nal – A biological storage unit.
  • Denpa – An envoy equipped with an audiographic memory that can store and recall spoken messages at will in the same voice, tone and inflection of the original person who spoke it, who travels from village to village to deliver messages from other communities both near and far.
  • Egami – A docile mineral-based creatures primarily used for family transportation due to the fact they are virtually inexhaustible.
  • Gates of Juh’holl – Europan afterlife; where souls are released from the flesh to become stardust and rejoin the universe.
  • Ipu llqr mwyll xfrr – Abogzon credo meaning “success or death”; satisfaction guaranteed.
  • Isogoles – Europan monthly day of pay.
  • Jbwqnadb – Europan spelling of lemonade.
  • Meis’lo – The only surviving witness to the murder of  the prophet Nes’Tim.
  • Micdow yl – The vessels of new life; children.
  • Nes’Tim – The most revered spiritual prophet on Europa, slain by a heretic tribe who call themselves Sel’Tab.
  • Pwyll – Europa’s highest mountain.
  • Qik’climajh – Depending on its usage in a sentence, denotes either the act of telling a story, or the storyteller themselves.
  • Sel’Tab – A heretic tribe responsible for the death of the prophet Nes’Tim.
  • Shig’umfu – “Interesting world of another”; a documentary qik’climajh in which neighbors tell the story of a person’s life as learned from casual conversations.
  • Spo – Food.
  • Uz Cu’nal – A biological storage unit used primarily for food preservation.
  • Uz – An unspeakable sexual act; a derogatory term; an insult.

Greetings From Europa – Fourth Transmission: Ninsas’ Wombs

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image

First Transmission * Second Transmission * Third Transmission

Greetings from Europa!

My family and I have had an extremely busy week lifting cu’nals and transporting them (with the help of our egami, Rocky, of course) to the highest point of Pwyll as an offering to Nes’Tim, the prophet I mentioned in an earlier broadcast.

The cu’nals we carried are a weird sort of biological storage unit, bred from birth to warehouse different types of material. Ours were uz cu’nals, or food holders, for lack of a better translation. They’re really pretty nifty. Like having a living Tupperware chest. Nothing ever spoils once you put it in an uz cu’nal.

Oh, and for those of you trying to learn Europanese from my broadcasts, before you go using the word uz in sentences, thinking that you’re talking about food… the proper word for food is spo.

If you were to use the term uz to a Europan without following it immediately with the word cu’nal, you would most likely be the recipient of a severe beating. Uz by itself describes a sexual act that you wouldn’t want to participate in, nor watch anyone perform. Trust me on this.

The big news on Europa right now is Ninsas‘ decision to close several of her wombs. Ninsas is a sort of hybrid queen, but the term queen doesn’t denote royalty… exactly. Okay, this isn’t making sense, so let me try it another way.

Every fifty or so years, a female Europan is born blessed with multiple wombs. This female has all her needs met as her primary function becomes that of procreation. She is tended to and admired, but holds no real power over anyone aside from male suitors and women that cannot bear their own children.

Although Europans don’t understand the term fad, more than a few have adopted Ninsas’ children to brag to their neighbors. Ninsas’s kids have become more collectible than Beanie Babies. But before you start to worry, let me assure you that they are all well cared for. Europans revere children as micdow yl or the new vessels of life.

For those of you following along with scorecards at home, yes, that is how I and my wife were able to have kids. Humans and Europans aren’t compatible in the birthing way, so Ninsas’ litter was a welcome blessing and was actually a welcoming gift from our neighbors.

And yes, Europan families often exchange children as house warming gifts, though it isn’t necessary since Ninsas’ birthing cycle is still going strong and one can just as easily adopt a child and give that as a gift instead. Which is fortunate, since I love my children to death, and couldn’t dream of parting with any of them. Even on their worst days.

But back to Ninsas’ decision. She felt it necessary to close five of her thirteen wombs after noticing that the litter from these wombs were runts that usually didn’t survive the week. An enclave of abogzons or gynecological engineers, have stepped in to examine and repair the damage to these wombs.

Although saddened by the birthing decrease, the community is optimistic that the abogzons will repair the wombs. After all, their credo is ipu llqr mwyll xfrr or success or death and I’ve never heard of an abogzon suicide as fulfillment of a contract.

Well, I’ve run my mouth long enough this time around, so I’ll sign off with this friendly reminder…

Uz.

Just kidding. Seriously, don’t use that word on its own.

Until next broadcast, this is Captain Edwards, signing off.

To be continued…

Text and Audio ©2014 & 2021 Rhyan Scorpio-Rhys

Greetings From Europa – Second Transmission: The Kramdens of Bensonhurst

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First Transmission

Greetings from Europa.

The other day a qik’climajh — translation, translation… uh, I guess they would be considered the Europan version of storytellers — acted out the Tragedy of Nes’Tim, the famous surface whale whose fossilized remains rest at the highest point of Pwyll.

Once the most revered being on Europa, the spiritual prophet Nes’Tim was slain by the heretic tribe, Sel’Tab, during the height of the Glacial Wars. Meis’lo, a relative of my wife, is the only surviving witness to the tragedy. He was a child at the time, and foolishly wedged himself between the heretics and Nes’Tim. He was lucky to escape the confrontation with his life. He bears the scar of the puncture wound over his second heart.

The Sel’Tab, not above slaying a prophet, apparently had qualms about murdering a child. While I wish I could have met Nes’Tim, I’m glad that Meis’lo was not the one killed during that skirmish. Despite his nearly 600 years of age, he is a great history buff and I love talking about Europan history with him.

Back to the qik’climajh, a term that actually covers both the person telling the story and the act of storytelling (it sounds complicated but you can tell the difference when the word is used in a sentence). The ritual of the qik’climajh is that everyone in attendance takes turns telling a story.

I, unfortunately, am not much of a storyteller, so when it came to be my turn, I chose to talk about one of my favorite classic comedy shows, The Honeymooners. I tried to explain the concept of television and quickly abandoned it when I sensed the crowd getting restless.

As I retold a few of the episodes I remembered best, the ones with the chef of the future, Carlos mambo lessons, and rubber marshmallows, I watched their faces knot in confusion. At first I thought it was my fault. As I said, I’m nobody’s first choice for a storyteller, but I couldn’t have been more wrong.

It was the concept of KramdenRalph, as they referred to Mr. Gleeson’s character, they struggled to understand. In fact, his character was so perplexing to their Europan mindset, it sparked a great debate amongst the elders, who couldn’t find the logic of how and why everyone tolerated the portly bus driver.

After many hours of serious debate, the consensus was that NortonEd and KramdenAlice should have stripped KramdenRalph of all his possessions and exiled him from the village of Bensonhurst, armed with only a Handy Housewife Helper and a can of KraMars Delicious Mystery Appetizer.

Now, I’m actually looking forward to next week’s outing because I can’t wait to get their take on Seinfeld.

Until next broadcast, this is Captain Edwards, signing off.

To be continued…

Text and Audio ©2014 & 2021 Rhyan Scorpio-Rhys

Greetings From Europa – First Transmission: Brave New World

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Europa

This is Alexander Edwards, former captain of the Intergalactic Space Vessel Expediter.

Greetings from Europa.

I know that sounds hokey, like one of those golden age of radio programs, but I really couldn’t think of a clever opening line. I chose that particular opening because it’s the most accurate. This broadcast is coming to you from the Jupiter moon we were warned to stay away from in 2001: A Space Odyssey. And truth to tell, I don’t know if I can really call this a broadcast. I mean, I was able to salvage this transmitter, but I’m no engineer. The green light blinks but I’m not sure this thing is working. And is a broadcast truly a broadcast if no one hears it?

I’m sorry if it sounds like I’m rambling. My thoughts are all over the place right now. I have so much information to impart and have no idea where to begin. My crew and I were on route to Saturn when our ship, the Expediter, was bombarded by meteorites the size of Fiddle Faddle and we were forced to make an emergency landing here on Europa. It was a catastrophe. But they say any crash you can walk away from is a good one.

The problem is, I’m the only one who can make that statement. The rest of the crew died on impact and I spent the next three days burying them in shallow graves. I know what you must be thinking, why would I waste three days of oxygen burying dead men. The way I see it, if not for their sacrifice, I wouldn’t have had oxygen to begin with, and they were friends who deserved a decent burial, at the very least. I did for them what I hope they’d do for me if the situation was reversed.

Turns out that I used up all their oxygen for nothing. When I had depleted the last of the air supply, I decided that I was going to take my life by removing my helmet and succumbing to the Martian atmosphere. As you can see, I wasn’t successful. Oh, I removed my helmet, all right. I just didn’t die very well. It turns out that an aborted terraforming project that the Intergalactic Council labeled a failure, actually produced a layer of breathable oxygen. It’s thin and took my body some time to adjust to it, but it’s here nonetheless and is pollution free which isn’t a bad trade-off.

I wish I could tell you how long it’s been since I crash landed here, but I honestly have no idea. At the time I wasn’t thinking about tracking the days. The bulk of my concentration was focused on staying alive. I’m sure you understand. So, let’s just say I’ve been here for a while. A long while. Long enough to make contact with the indigenous life forms here, and acclimate myself to the Europan way of life. In fact, I’m married now…with children.

I would elaborate on that, but I’m trying to keep the transmissions short in order to conserve energy since I’m not sure how much juice this generator holds.

Until next broadcast, this is Captain Edwards, signing off.

To be continued…

Text and Audio ©2014 & 2021 Rhyan Scorpio-Rhys

All Her Yesterdays

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The immortal bard once wrote that tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, creeps in this petty pace from day to day, to the last syllable of recorded time. And as it was true for we poor mundanes trapped within the confines of this all too real world, so too were the mythical, mystical inhabitants of the Fairytale Realm subjected to the ravages of time, albeit creeping at a pettier pace.

At two hundred and seven years of age, dementia had robbed the old woman of her name and memories but whenever she sat by the window of her woodland cottage, staring past seven small graves that had not been properly tended to in years, she sang a long forgotten song from when her hair was as black as ebony, lips as red as the rose, skin as white as snow and impossibly the birds in the air outside seemed to dance in time with her lovely, lonely melody.

Text and Audio ©2019 & 2021 Rhyan Scorpio-Rhys

One To The Dome

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One hot summer night, after one too many tallboys, and bored out of his skull, Lem Planter fetched his cheaper-than-dirt Colt King Cobra .357 Magnum and unloaded his revolver in the air, trying to put a bullet between the eyes of the man on the moon.

As one would imagine, his aim exceeded his reach, but one of those shells actually managed to find a target as it fell back down to Earth, striking Miss Hattie Clements in the top of the head. When word reached Lem, he confessed immediately and was arrested once forensics matched the bullet to his pistol.

The saving grace to this story was even though the bullet was lodged in an area of Hattie’s brain that was deemed too dangerous to be removed, she not only survived but fully recovered from the incident, and when she was released from the hospital, she refused to press charges and even visited Lem in prison to personally thank him. She felt deep in her heart that it was the best thing that ever happened to her, because from the moment she awoke after the accident, she was able to physically see and have direct conversations with God.

Text and Audio ©2019 & 2021 Rhyan Scorpio-Rhys

As I Push My Whimsy Forward

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I am of two minds. On the one hand, I want to make a good impression, to reveal glimpses of the parts of myself that will make you think favorably of me. On the other hand, I do not wish to mislead you by pretending to be wholly one thing, when I am an amalgamation of paradoxes that should not be able to function in one body, one personality, let alone society, yet somehow does.

Then you offer me a smile that is polite and mild, and my mind is made up, for I do not wish to hide my light beneath a bushel. It is my desire that you see all of me and I see all of you, because in that act there is such a freedom of either acceptance or rejection, that transcends the simple mediocrity of belonging.

So, as I push my whimsy forward, unfolding politeness and decorum to display the complexities that live and thrive at the very core of my being, I offer you the opportunity to follow suit in order to form an unbreakable bond and temper a love forged in the flames of two pure hearts.

Text and Audio ©2021 Rhyan Scorpio-Rhys

 

Her First Time

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The pocket watch was a pendulum of brilliant gold in the candlelit room. The mechanized ticking reminded Vanessa of raindrops striking a car roof, and all at once she was transported back to her rainy eighteenth birthday, in the back of Jimmy Erler’s old, beat up ’67 Chevy Impala, letting him round all the bases because she foolishly believed he was the one who deserved her much coveted v-card.

For some silly reason, she had recreated the memory of her first time into something clumsy and awkward but romantic and committed herself to the lie so hard and for so long that she actually believed it was true. But under Doc Halley’s hypnosis session, the fairytale facade fell away, and her breathing escalated from jittery pants to an almost animalistic sucking in of air as if she was underwater. Her body was becoming thick and heavy and she heard Jimmy’s sweet nothings whispered in her ears turn into screams for help.

It was then that she realized their heavy petting had been abandoned for her pummelling, clawing, kicking, and biting at her nineteen year old date who had balled up in a fetal position trying to protect himself from her brutal assault. Before the date, Jimmy bragged about his prowess and his ability to bloom her flower. The shame of it was that he didn’t live long enough to see just how right he was.

Text and Audio ©2021 Rhyan Scorpio-Rhys

Does Love Exist?

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You come to me with a face like thunder, your mind a hornets nest of uncertainty, questioning our relationship, where we stand, where things are headed, because our reality does not quite match up with the fairytale romance you envisioned for yourself since childhood.

You bombard me with questions: do I really love you or am I just infatuated with the notion of being in love, and how can I be certain that love actually exists, what evidence do I possess? I sigh, because in truth I can offer you no proof, but I know that love exists in the way you smile, the way your eyes just beam, in your breath every time you say my name, for that is where I always find true love.

Text and Audio ©2019 & 2021 Rhyan Scorpio-Rhys

Final Embrace

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I never meant to end up being what I was. I would wake up each morning with the best of intentions, recite positive affirmations, and set off in the world determined to leave society better than I found it. But somewhere along the way, something or someone always fell onto my path and upset the apple cart.

My life became an obstacle course of misfortune, a series of choosing the lesser of two evils as I made split second pivots which strayed me farther and farther off track, until I could no longer see the way back to road of righteousness. Eventually, the accounts for all those lesser evils came due and I paid with the only currency I owned.

And as I lay in the gutter with my life slowly ebbing, I saw the beautiful face of a woman who could only be described as my one true love. It was little more than a flash of pale skin and raven hair that appeared in front of my dying eyes before vanishing, and I knew it was a brainsick reverie disguising Death, but I longed to allow myself to fall into her loving final embrace.

Text and Audio ©2019 & 2021 Rhyan Scorpio-Rhys