Devolution
Apologies to Kurt Vonnegut, whose writing style
I imitated before I'd ever read him.
She never knew what time it had been.
Now we know it was 10:18 PM. She wasn't sure, because the
light was so different down there. Back then it was dark
for half of the year, and then light for the other half!
Things aren't so much like that now.
They were all were very tall back then. Because of her,
everybody is much shorter now. She was the last tall
person. Her genes told her that she ought to be tall. The
genes that told her to be tall were louder than the genes
that told others to be short. If she'd lived and
reproduced, her offspring's genes would have won out over
the shorter people, and I might be willowy.
Her father had been quite short, just 1.6 meters. It had
been thought that the tall ones were gone, that their type
had disappeared generations ago. Not that they desired
this. How could they have known that it was their giant
stature and heavy bones that kept their feet locked to the
soil? Her height of nearly 2 meters surprised everybody.
Her father, although he couldn't have known, was descended
from the Ngala. That was what this African tribe called
themselves, although the English language did not yet exist
to express it in writing. They were the tallest people
ever to live on this earth. It was not unusual for them to
be 2.5 meters tall! Their ancestors had their feet locked
to the soil, too, so they could not consume the fruits that
were just above their reach. As is the way of things, the
taller ones were likely to live longer, so tallness won out.
Her father, who called himself Bill, did not know this. He
prided himself on being completely white in skin color like,
he thought, all of his ancestors. He'd once killed a man
because his skin was browner. How could he have known that
they had the same ancestor? Things aren't so much like that
now.
It wasn't the fall that killed her, it was the cold. The
edge of the ice cliff had given way, and she fell hundreds
of feet. Her arms were open, greeting the ground below that
rushed up to meet this strange Hawaiian volcano-princess.
When she died, she saved everybody on the planet. Nobody
knew it, of course. She was no martyr. Nobody knows about
her now. They're more concerned with reproducing. And who
can blame them? It's the best way to spread our seed.
That's the only accomplishment that people are proud of now.
Jobs, travel, love, hate, war -- that's all out the window.
(If we had windows.) It's all about spreading our seed.
It's our duty. It was their duty then, too, only they had
forgotten. If I lived back then, I think that I would have
wanted to learn to play the flute. I think that it would be
so beautiful to hear, if I had ears. Things aren't so much
like that now.
She felt free. It was her first time flying. She felt like
the children today when they first go into the air. Only
she was the first person ever to do it, and she was just
falling. Because of her, everybody flies now. So maybe she
was a martyr. An accidental martyr.
When she broke the ice, she killed a penguin. That didn't
affect the future of the penguins. It was just a penguin.
They, too, disappeared because of their inability to fly.
If it had been warmer, if the water had been like the water
2000 kilometers north, she might have lived. But the water
there was below freezing, kept liquid only by its movement
and salinity. First was the disabling slap of the 10
centimeter-thick ice. Then the cold.
She never had the chance to swim. Her body temperature went
down from 37 degrees to 0 degrees Celsius in minutes. She
never felt anything. They were warm-blooded then, which
made it easy for her to die. She was lucky. If she could
have flown, she would have been even luckier. They relied
on luck a lot.
Things aren't so much like that now.