Want proof that I should never be allowed to write at 1 a.m.? Well, here it is.
If and when he comes back, I will do my best to kill him for leaving me in this predicament.
I knew this was a bad plan from the outset, and indeed, I said so. Many times. I even told Grksnrch in front of the entire Rlparrn Council that this idea made about as much sense as adding a ninth testicle to a blnnspartth.
In retrospect, that public castigation was probably not the smartest idea I've ever had. Because when he managed to sway the council in his direction, guess who Grksnrch "volunteered" to go behind the enemy lines as part of the program?
It isn't merely that Earth possesses literally not one decent climate anywhere on its mottled surface, although I do long for the endless graynessof my beloved home territory, Nebllflg. No, even that enormous hardship is dwarfed to mere inconvenience by the form chosen for me by the Division of Morphation.
Of course, that form was pretty much determined by the choice of target to whom I was assigned. The Loud One was known to prefer ones of this form. Trust me to be assigned to an entity with the emotional depth of a puddle in a cleansing stall, however brilliant his mind.
Granted, my infiltration gave me excellent access to much of the information we sought. I was privy to all sorts of words, pictures, and equations as I watched him work, and I diligently committed them to memory. I even managed to detect a number of passwords by watching his disgustingly scaleless fingers.
But by Svvvycth's nostril, such a price I paid! I was forced to listen to this lpwwnofx every. Single. Minute that I was in his presence. And because he thought I was a friend, I was subjected to endless, brain-flaking commentary upon everything in his life, from his feelings of persecution to his embarrassing sense of inadequacy, which he attempted to cover with his arrogance and the sheer volume and quantity of his words.
Even worse was his proprietary attitude toward me, and his tendency toward physical contact. He would often put his hands upon me – bare! – and fondle me as he talked or watched the flickering box that made more noise than even he could. Many's the dream I've had of being rescued by our people – never, ever to be touched by bare skin again. If only I had reason to hope!
All this hideousness aside, the barely endurable assignment was going well and nearing its end when The Loud One was reassigned to a position in another galaxy. Looking back, I suppose I had ample opportunity to signal the Division of Extraction, but it didn't occur to me that we would be separated. Before I realized what was happening, I was handed over to a female who disliked The Loud One but evidently regarded me with affection, and off he went. In one of the more visceral moments of horror I've experienced during this assignment, he actually put his bare lips upon my body.
I suffered many hairballs in an effort to purge myself of that violation, let me tell you.
Now I find myself completely cut off from my people, because this female caretaker is utterly unconnected with what The Loud One called the "Esgeecee," nor does she appear to have access to any communications equipment that I can sufficiently exploit to alert the Rlparrn Council of my plight. To make matters worse, the female is as prone to the sickening touching as The Loud One was. He often referred to her as "hot," which I eventually understood to mean he would like to have levitated the wpstnarqg with her, but her body is repulsive. She has only two breasts, which not only make no sound but are soft. She is also warm to the touch and does not exude radiation. And there is literally not a single spike on her skin.
She doesn't even have a tail. Not one.
Meanwhile, I'm left to wonder if The Loud One will ever return, and if so, if he'll come for me. If he does not, I have no hope of contacting my people and resuming my true form. I long to feel the scaly skin of my original self, to stretch my earflaps and use them to cover my lidless eyes.
If and when he does come back, I will wait until I've managed to signal for an Extraction team. Then I will find a way to make him pay for my horrific suffering.
In the meantime, I vent my frustration by destroying what the female refers to as "curtains." They are non-organic panels made for this unfathomable purpose of shielding humans from the view of others. No, seriously. The name for this horror seems to be "privacy."
This is a disgusting culture.