stop. I started kicking and punching every one of the little parasites, but they kept
coming, kept grabbing, kept clawing.
I’d laugh if it wasn’t so… I don’t even have a name for it. Or for them. In
hindsight I guess the way they are is a matter of genetics. You throw a bunch of
stuff in the blender and this is what you get. They didn’t want to hurt me, maybe.
I mean, maybe the way they are is the only way they know. Maybe the clawing and
biting was innocent, really, like your new puppy. But my reaction changed things.
I guess you reap what you sow.
I don’t know what they are going to do to me. They let me make this recording
and promised they would send it. They want someone else to come. They want me
to ask someone else to come. They’re smiling at me right now because they know
that word: come. But please don’t do it. These things can’t be allowed to get to
Earth. I’m glad now that they burnt the rocket down but next time they might try to
fly it. And they’ll crash, but they’ll learn from it and the time after that, they might
get it to fly. Please tell my family I love them. And if one day you feel a tug at your
trouser leg and there’s something that looks like a frog-man-rat hybrid at your feet,
kill it.