scorpions to arms!

That Sschphlarths don’t like scorpions is the kind of stuff that’s nice to know before you get accidentally-on-purpose zapped across the universe to the wrong address that happens to be their neighborhood. When in Rome, and all that, for sure, but when you wake up as one of them and you know you are not one of them, you tend to do anything to prove to yourself and anybody else paying attention that you are what you really are.

I’m not a Sschphlarth! I’m a human being!

At least the Elephant Man was an elephant in looks only. And really, not even that. He looked way more human than elephant. He also looked way more human than I do. But he had the DNA to prove it, even though even though nobody knew anything about DNA back then. At least they could dig him up and take a sample if anybody had doubts. Me? I got no human DNA in my bones. I don’t even have bones. I’ve got a shell, I think. Is that what these are? My bones are on the outside. I’ve got all Sschphlarth DNA in my veins. Tell you the truth, I’m not too sure I’ve even got veins. Do the Sschphlarth have veins? I don’t even know if the Sschphlarth have DNA or what passes as their version of DNA.

Again, I have to say, this kind of stuff would be nice to read in a brochure during the trip. A trip would be nice, too.

Anyone who knows me, who knew before, and/or now knows I’m a Scorpio. I don’t really care about the astrology thing. Something about the sign, the symbol, the scorpion, a crab kind of thing with a mighty sting, really speaks to me. Some people collect spiders, snakes, butterflies, what have you. I collect scorpions. Most of the tattoos that decorated my human body followed the scorpion theme. And so, when I began drawing, recreating a semblance of my old tattoos on my Sschphlarth arms, bells rang, lights flashed, whistles blew.

Only after somebody had turned off all the alarms did I notice an official-looking panel of Sschphlarths, A Trio of Elders is as close as I can translate their collective title. Each seemed constantly attuned to the other, three moving, doing and being as one. I could sense sympathy from them, not from each of them, but from the three of them as though one. I knew that they knew that this was some kind of misunderstanding, that as far as they were concerned, the alarms were an overreaction. But such was standard procedure. I also understood they would explain why the place was put on red alert, but only after I explained to them why I had invoked a vivid and most horrible representation of this most dangerous and hated enemy, and that I should depict such creatures in colors of deeply religious, even sacred connotations, and that I should depict them on this mostly highly regarded and sanctified parts of my shell.

Like I said, there wasn’t anything about this in the in-flight magazine. A magazine would have been nice. A flight, even a flight, would have been nice. No duty-free shops here.