r if so, limited, and this underworld, or deep abyss, perhaps the same.

I rise, unwillingly towards the bucket, I can see Mr. One and Mr. Two standing by one another, and Mr. Three (or perhaps that one is a she), on the other side of them, as they shift this glass aquarium type object I’m in over the bucket, I get the feeling they will take my essence (as they thirst, and sweat) and transform me into water for their existence. What a way to die.

I hear one of them say, I can’t make out which one, but not the female, she’s quiet, it is

I was hit by a radiation gun, its beam (or laser: you know the ones they call: shaft-laser guns ((or radiation beam firearm)) I have one, but the one I got hit with or by, was different then the common one used nowadays. Anyhow, I fell to the floor of my spacecraft, like vapor running off a stone. The window of the ship deflected some of the beam, I think that is why you are reading this, I didn’t die, and thus, you have an account. I am 190-years old, as you should know. I left the planet ‘Life,’ a few years back; I remember that, not a whole lot more in-between then and now.

I’ve just been singing, and trying to keep my mind from exploding these past three or four years, while in this new form, a mist of some kind, in an abyss someplace. I was headed for Earth’s solar family, from the Black Galaxy, when this degenerate process took place, happened, what form of species had such a weapon, I do not know, completely.

I suppose I’m simply waiting for something to happen. Being sad and old is not my cup of tea, and now captive in mist form. I get cold and hot at different times, and hear voices.

I do detect smells and the cooling around me, I then can tell if it is morning or afternoon, or evening, and the voices, several of them, I’ve even got to name them, simple so I don’t have to figure it out, 1, 2, 3, 4 and 5. I hear other voices, I simply call them, ‘the others’; all alien of course. One and two voices are saying now the planet I’m on or under is called by a name I’m not familiar with, I make it out to be “Sun Red.”

“He’s over there,” I heard number Two say. When he comes near me, I get warm all the time. I think I am vapor, yet in this environment, who can tell. Number four says, “It’s time to fill the bucket with that one,” I sense he means me. He is pointing towards me now, I can vaguely see, a finger pointing.

Now I hear One, say: “This species comes from earth, where they call us Martians….”

So it must be, I conclude, the voices want to transform me from this state of existence, which seems to be vapor, in some kind of form, to water in that bucket—liquid. I do realize Mars has no water for the most part, on its surface, or if so, limited, and this underworld, or deep abyss, perhaps the same.

I rise, unwillingly towards the bucket, I can see Mr. One and Mr. Two standing by one another, and Mr. Three (or perhaps that one is a she), on the other side of them, as they shift this glass aquarium type object I’m in over the bucket, I get the feeling they will take my essence (as they thirst, and sweat) and transform me into water for their existence. What a way to die.

I hear one of them say, I can’t make out which one, but not the female, she’s quiet, it is e

ot more in-between then and now.

I’ve just been singing, and trying to keep my mind from exploding these past three or four years, while in this new form, a mist of some kind, in an abyss someplace. I was headed for Earth’s solar family, from the Black Galaxy, when this degenerate process took place, happened, what form of species had such a weapon, I do not know, completely.

I suppose I’m simply waiting for something to happen. Being sad and old is not my cup of tea, and now captive in mist form. I get cold and hot at different times, and hear voices.

I do detect smells and the cooling around me, I then can tell if it is morning or afternoon, or evening, and the voices, several of them, I’ve even got to name them, simple so I don’t have to figure it out, 1, 2, 3, 4 and 5. I hear other voices, I simply call them, ‘the others’; all alien of course. One and two voices are saying now the planet I’m on or under is called by a name I’m not familiar with, I make it out to be “Sun Red.”

“He’s over there,” I heard number Two say. When he comes near me, I get warm all the time. I think I am vapor, yet in this environment, who can tell. Number four says, “It’s time to fill the bucket with that one,” I sense he means me. He is pointing towards me now, I can vaguely see, a finger pointing.

Now I hear One, say: “This species comes from earth, where they call us Martians….”

So it must be, I conclude, the voices want to transform me from this state of existence, which seems to be vapor, in some kind of form, to water in that bucket—liquid. I do realize Mars has no water for the most part, on its surface, or if so, limited, and this underworld, or deep abyss, perhaps the same.

I rise, unwillingly towards the bucket, I can see Mr. One and Mr. Two standing by one another, and Mr. Three (or perhaps that one is a she), on the other side of them, as they shift this glass aquarium type object I’m in over the bucket, I get the feeling they will take my essence (as they thirst, and sweat) and transform me into water for their existence. What a way to die.

I hear one of them say, I can’t make out which one, but not the female, she’s quiet, it is

s, and hear voices.

I do detect smells and the cooling around me, I then can tell if it is morning or afternoon, or evening, and the voices, several of them, I’ve even got to name them, simple so I don’t have to figure it out, 1, 2, 3, 4 and 5. I hear other voices, I simply call them, ‘the others’; all alien of course. One and two voices are saying now the planet I’m on or under is called by a name I’m not familiar with, I make it out to be “Sun Red.”

“He’s over there,” I heard number Two say. When he comes near me, I get warm all the time. I think I am vapor, yet in this environment, who can tell. Number four says, “It’s time to fill the bucket with that one,” I sense he means me. He is pointing towards me now, I can vaguely see, a finger pointing.

Now I hear One, say: “This species comes from earth, where they call us Martians….”

So it must be, I conclude, the voices want to transform me from this state of existence, which seems to be vapor, in some kind of form, to water in that bucket—liquid. I do realize Mars has no water for the most part, on its surface, or if so, limited, and this underworld, or deep abyss, perhaps the same.

I rise, unwillingly towards the bucket, I can see Mr. One and Mr. Two standing by one another, and Mr. Three (or perhaps that one is a she), on the other side of them, as they shift this glass aquarium type object I’m in over the bucket, I get the feeling they will take my essence (as they thirst, and sweat) and transform me into water for their existence. What a way to die.

I hear one of them say, I can’t make out which one, but not the female, she’s quiet, it is

time. I think I am vapor, yet in this environment, who can tell. Number four says, “It’s time to fill the bucket with that one,” I sense he means me. He is pointing towards me now, I can vaguely see, a finger pointing.

Now I hear One, say: “This species comes from earth, where they call us Martians….”

So it must be, I conclude, the voices want to transform me from this state of existence, which seems to be vapor, in some kind of form, to water in that bucket—liquid. I do realize Mars has no water for the most part, on its surface, or if so, limited, and this underworld, or deep abyss, perhaps the same.

I rise, unwillingly towards the bucket, I can see Mr. One and Mr. Two standing by one another, and Mr. Three (or perhaps that one is a she), on the other side of them, as they shift this glass aquarium type object I’m in over the bucket, I get the feeling they will take my essence (as they thirst, and sweat) and transform me into water for their existence. What a way to die.

I hear one of them say, I can’t make out which one, but not the female, she’s quiet, it is

r if so, limited, and this underworld, or deep abyss, perhaps the same.

I rise, unwillingly towards the bucket, I can see Mr. One and Mr. Two standing by one another, and Mr. Three (or perhaps that one is a she), on the other side of them, as they shift this glass aquarium type object I’m in over the bucket, I get the feeling they will take my essence (as they thirst, and sweat) and transform me into water for their existence. What a way to die.

I hear one of them say, I can’t make out which one, but not the female, she’s quiet, it is either One or Two, “He should be pure as Gold,” meaning the water I will supply them. I can’t blame them, if I was thirsty, I’d do the same, freeze the water to ice, if I could, and keep it stored until one needed it; like wine, you could say.

“What is wrong?” I hear One say to Two, as he is now checking out some controls attached to the aquarium, to start the transformation process.

I have been fermenting, or cooling, and preserved for some three years I believe, what could be wrong. I didn’t understand all the words but I think I’m going to be too sweet or sour for them, Two says: “His makeup is too old!”

And now one is commenting, “He didn’t look old, Earthlings, don’t live past 100-years usually.”

“Yes, this is normally right, but this one is over 175-years old, and the machine is never wrong. You can taste him if you want, but I do not wish to get sick.”

As he got closer to me, Number One, he stated clearly, “Yes, I can smell him, he is old…!”

He released me from this bondage, which had some kind of magnetic gravitational hold on me, in mist form, as I was allowed now to feel the fresh air, my form molded back into place, and then I heard One say, “Come out of it,” as if I was in shock, or my senses were too dull, and his sharp voice would spark it back, like slapping a dew born to wake it up. Then I found myself standing intact in front of them, higher than them. And I started to feel my legs, fingers, arms, mouth. “Let him live,” said One, “we don’t kill for the pleasure or sport of it, or destroy, only for the purpose of survival.”