| The Martian and the Raven By Bayne MacGregor, based on the poem “The Raven” by Edgar Allen Poe Invading London dreary, my weight growing, great and weary, Fighting gravity so much stronger than I’d ever felt before, While my lungs struggled, near collapsing, suddenly there came a tapping, As of something come loose and rapping, rapping on my hoods hatch door, “’Tis some cable” I muttered, “flapping against my hoods hatch door-- Only this, and nothing more.” So distinctly I remember those humans we did dismember, And each separate dying member fought its death upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow,-- vainly I had sought to follow From my dissections end of sorrow,-- from my lungs so rent and sore-- From the painful gross infection that left my lungs so rent and sore -- Coughing sputum phlegm and more. And the twitching and uncertain flailing of my tentacles trailing, Writhing – filled with painful tremors never felt before; So that now to keep the beating of my heart I thought repeating “’Tis some cable needing repairs come loose at my hoods hatch door -- Some frayed cable needing repairs come loose at my hoods hatch door -- That it is and nothing more.” Presently my flesh grew stronger, hesitating then no longer, Heaving up my bulk and crawling, crawling over the cold floor, Taking up my tools and mapping, of the wires and the cladding , I crawled towards the constant tapping, tapping at my hoods hatch door, Pulling levers, switches, catches – here I opened up the door; -- -- Darkness there and nothing more. Deep into that darkness peering, long I sat there wondering, fearing, Doubting, thinking thoughts no immortal Martian ever thought before; But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token, And the only word there spoken came from my throat burning and sore This I shouted, in my panic, cried “Ullaa” till my vocal cords near tore Of response there was no more. Back into the chamber turning, all my nerves within me burning, Soon I heard again a tapping somewhat louder than before. “Surely,” thought I, “surely that is something caught on my view-port lattice; Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore – Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;-- ‘Tis the wind and nothing more!” Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flitt and flutter, In there stepped a strange winged creature like the great Martians of lore; Not the least obeisance made he; not an instant stopped or stayed he; But, with a flapping of his wings he perched above my hoods hatch door -- Perched before the map of Paris just above my hoods hatch door -- Perched and sat, and nothing more. Then this ebony bird distracting the ache of my lungs wracking, By the strange evolutionary structure that it bore, Through Telepathy I’d undertaken to communicate and make ken, The need for some sort of haven to tend my illness sick and sore – To tell me what his species name is on this heavy planets shore. Quoth the Raven “Eaten raw.” Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Though it’s answer little meaning – little relevancy bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no living Martian being Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his hoods hatch door – Bird or beast before that orbital map above his hoods hatch door, With such name as “Eaten raw” But the black bird, sitting lonely fore the blurry map, spoke only That one word, as if his mind in that one word he did outpour. Nothing farther then he uttered – not a feather then he fluttered – While my brachioles were ruptured through coughing worse than that before – I spake “This hemorrhaging will leave me so much worse than was before.” Then the bird said “Eaten raw” |
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| If you can read this, there is a bug jamming the gears of your difference engine |