Apocalypse
The air was thick and moist and blood pounded gloriously through her temples. How wonderful it all was! Tromping through the undergrowth, the shadows of cycads rippling across her iridescent skin, the air redolent with the smells of scat, carrion and rotting ferns. And the great buzz of giant insects darting between the trees, teasing, catch-me-if-you-can interlopers from above.
Higher still were the great winged creatures, lazily criss-crossing the milky sky, making her look up in wonder and jealousy. What must it be like? To dance with the clouds? To have a God’s-eye view of all the green and luscious world? Their wings were smooth and taut like still water, though some, oddly, were feathered like her. Such diversity! So much to see and smell and taste.
A faint rustle disturbed the undergrowth. She froze in place, slowly turned her head to calibrate, then dove suddenly into the foliage, scooping up the tiny furry creature whose flimsy limbs wiggled helplessly between her claws. Overhead the flying creatures shrieked in salutation. She returned their cry. It was the best of worlds!
And this would be the pattern of her day, of all her days: stealthily moving between the trees, vigilant for the tiniest sound, eyes roaming upwards lest some gliding creature grow careless and come too close. Then snatch and crunch and the sweetness of hot blood dripping over her lips.
How blest she was! Not only with stealth, but great speed and lightness of foot. On a good day, some plodding plant-eater would carelessly find itself out in the open, far from cover, sometimes stuck in the mud. Then, from several directions, she and her sisters would burst from the forest and descend upon their dinner in two dozen easy strides.
It was almost too easy. At first, there had been much in-fighting, competing for the tasty flanks, but soon enough they revelled in their shared plenty. Working as one, they could take down anything, even their great, over-sized, sharp-toothed cousins. Their cousins lacked agility, in both body and mind, and they did not work in teams. For all their size and bluster, they tromped the same ground, day after day.
In any case, it was the flesh of plant-eaters that the sisters savoured most.
And there! There! A plant-eater on the run! Already they were closing: a team of five, four females and one rogue male who must have more than dinner on his mind. He would be disappointed.
Yes!
She grabbed the horned and plated creature by the left rear leg. In a moment the opposite leg was in the jaws of another sister. In a great thump their prey fell to the ground, its soft underbelly exposed.
One great moan from the creature’s slashed throat, then a final sigh and shiver and the feast could begin. But first, the ritual. As leader, the privilege belonged to her alone: proudly she lifted her head to the sky and bellowed. Her sisters followed in sequence; then they joined together in one great communal roar, their combined voices loud enough to make the giant ferns above them quiver in the dappled light. The male stepped back momentarily, unsure what to make of this arcane ceremony. The sisters glanced back briefly and laughed, a kind of roar which clearly this male had never heard before. His loss, no concern of theirs.
The day is good! she roared. Very good! her sisters echoed. She rejoiced in the realization that here was the beginning of nuance. She had dozens of different roars which communicated different things. A storm is coming! There is danger near! Food is close! And much more besides because the world was much more. Each day this truth became more clear. The world was so much more. At night the sky grew dim. In its blackness tiny lights flickered like the eyes of far off sisters. And one great pale light, perfect in shape, moved slowly across the black sky, changing its position over the nights, disappearing completely for awhile, but then returning, never failing, a pattern one could depend upon. The world was full of patterns. Full of roars. Full of ... pictures, sounds, ideas ... which ... if only one could find a way to join them together.... All this she pondered as she ripped into the flesh before her. It was thrilling. Not just the blood, but what was going on in her head, possibly in the head of her sisters too, although this was hard to know. But would it always be so? Perhaps one day she would find a way to truly share her thoughts with them? Finer distinctions in her roars, or maybe some other strategy she had not yet considered.... Who knew what the new day would bring?
In contentment she lifted her blood-splattered head towards the sun, only it was not the sun. It was in the wrong part of the sky and it was visibly moving, growing brighter. She stopped eating. Two small furry creatures scrambled out of the undergrowth and made a mad dash for cover. What is it? she wondered, still looking up, transfixed. The start of some new pattern?
It grew brighter and brighter and streaked across the sky. None of her sisters were eating now. Then this sphere of impossible brightness disappeared behind the forest in a great flash, forcing her to close her eyes. Next there was second sunrise, even brighter and expanding, and the trees began to bend and break and there was shrieking and a great blast of heat.
Ah! she roared in protest, pained by the light and heat and absence of words.
Higher still were the great winged creatures, lazily criss-crossing the milky sky, making her look up in wonder and jealousy. What must it be like? To dance with the clouds? To have a God’s-eye view of all the green and luscious world? Their wings were smooth and taut like still water, though some, oddly, were feathered like her. Such diversity! So much to see and smell and taste.
A faint rustle disturbed the undergrowth. She froze in place, slowly turned her head to calibrate, then dove suddenly into the foliage, scooping up the tiny furry creature whose flimsy limbs wiggled helplessly between her claws. Overhead the flying creatures shrieked in salutation. She returned their cry. It was the best of worlds!
And this would be the pattern of her day, of all her days: stealthily moving between the trees, vigilant for the tiniest sound, eyes roaming upwards lest some gliding creature grow careless and come too close. Then snatch and crunch and the sweetness of hot blood dripping over her lips.
How blest she was! Not only with stealth, but great speed and lightness of foot. On a good day, some plodding plant-eater would carelessly find itself out in the open, far from cover, sometimes stuck in the mud. Then, from several directions, she and her sisters would burst from the forest and descend upon their dinner in two dozen easy strides.
It was almost too easy. At first, there had been much in-fighting, competing for the tasty flanks, but soon enough they revelled in their shared plenty. Working as one, they could take down anything, even their great, over-sized, sharp-toothed cousins. Their cousins lacked agility, in both body and mind, and they did not work in teams. For all their size and bluster, they tromped the same ground, day after day.
In any case, it was the flesh of plant-eaters that the sisters savoured most.
And there! There! A plant-eater on the run! Already they were closing: a team of five, four females and one rogue male who must have more than dinner on his mind. He would be disappointed.
Yes!
She grabbed the horned and plated creature by the left rear leg. In a moment the opposite leg was in the jaws of another sister. In a great thump their prey fell to the ground, its soft underbelly exposed.
One great moan from the creature’s slashed throat, then a final sigh and shiver and the feast could begin. But first, the ritual. As leader, the privilege belonged to her alone: proudly she lifted her head to the sky and bellowed. Her sisters followed in sequence; then they joined together in one great communal roar, their combined voices loud enough to make the giant ferns above them quiver in the dappled light. The male stepped back momentarily, unsure what to make of this arcane ceremony. The sisters glanced back briefly and laughed, a kind of roar which clearly this male had never heard before. His loss, no concern of theirs.
The day is good! she roared. Very good! her sisters echoed. She rejoiced in the realization that here was the beginning of nuance. She had dozens of different roars which communicated different things. A storm is coming! There is danger near! Food is close! And much more besides because the world was much more. Each day this truth became more clear. The world was so much more. At night the sky grew dim. In its blackness tiny lights flickered like the eyes of far off sisters. And one great pale light, perfect in shape, moved slowly across the black sky, changing its position over the nights, disappearing completely for awhile, but then returning, never failing, a pattern one could depend upon. The world was full of patterns. Full of roars. Full of ... pictures, sounds, ideas ... which ... if only one could find a way to join them together.... All this she pondered as she ripped into the flesh before her. It was thrilling. Not just the blood, but what was going on in her head, possibly in the head of her sisters too, although this was hard to know. But would it always be so? Perhaps one day she would find a way to truly share her thoughts with them? Finer distinctions in her roars, or maybe some other strategy she had not yet considered.... Who knew what the new day would bring?
In contentment she lifted her blood-splattered head towards the sun, only it was not the sun. It was in the wrong part of the sky and it was visibly moving, growing brighter. She stopped eating. Two small furry creatures scrambled out of the undergrowth and made a mad dash for cover. What is it? she wondered, still looking up, transfixed. The start of some new pattern?
It grew brighter and brighter and streaked across the sky. None of her sisters were eating now. Then this sphere of impossible brightness disappeared behind the forest in a great flash, forcing her to close her eyes. Next there was second sunrise, even brighter and expanding, and the trees began to bend and break and there was shrieking and a great blast of heat.
Ah! she roared in protest, pained by the light and heat and absence of words.
More Short Fiction
Dingo Dreaming A teacher on exchange in Australia struggles with unmotivated students and a magical landscape.
The Crossing A young teacher's innocence is shattered after witnessing a young girl struck by a car.
Badlands A morose teenage brother & sister drive with their parents across the prairies.
Steel Birds A homeless man is entranced by Christmas ornaments.
Every Dog An incompetent relief-pitcher enjoys a rare win.
Bowels of the Earth A volcanologist has a scare on Santorini.
Hericane Two cousins ride a tricycle into a hurricane.
Hole in the Sky Traveling to Bolivia for a solar eclipse.
Meeting Athena Trekking up Mt. Olympus in winter.
The Promise Life as seen by a seven-year-old in Toronto.
The Phone A young man's explores his phobia about telephones.
St. Peter's Fireflies A teacher attends his retirement dinner.
Sun Dancers An elderly couple make walking to the store an act of love.
Songbirds Twin sisters unexpectedly develop the gift of song.
Persistence of Memory A young actress is reluctant to bring her delusional father to a social function.
Black Friday The Devil and her assistant buy a screenwriter's soul.
Maggie in the Moonlight An abused Irishwoman seeks solace in a dream world.
Brave New World A weary William Shakespeare in inspired by a stranger in a Stratford pub.
Dingo Dreaming is published in "Winners' Circle Eight" (2001), Every Dog (Spring 2014) and Brave New World (Fall 2015) in "The New Orphic Review" Badlands won the first place prize for fiction in the 2010 Kootenay Literary Competition. Sun Dancers won the 2009 Okanagan short story contest. You can read Black Friday (2017) online at the Strange Fictions web site.
