Book: Work in progress
The Birds Have Disappeared
The birds have disappeared. It was early morning, and only the ominous silence preceded the breaking sun. He knew the cosmic clock was still working because the grass reached out to caress the sun, and the olive trees, even the well-trimmed weeping fig attempted a lazy rustle, but other than that, silence ruled his harsh reality: no birds, no chirps, no twitters, only their deafening absence. He knew, the only sane choice was to choose insanity.
He walked down the sunlit avenue that coiled and curved between graceless transparent walls protecting the sepia landscape of the living, the silent movie of people driving and walking to and fro endless blocks of McDonalds, Blockbusters, Wal-Marts, live people in hives of motionless monoliths of advertisements stretching out to the end of the world. He knew that science and religion held that the world was infinite, but also knew that this was only fiction, faith or theory and in reality, where there were no coupons, there the world ended. He could see it clearly; although big, huge, enormous, nevertheless, the world was finite.
Unnoticed by him, the acrid odor of a male feline's scenting had penetrated his blood brain barrier and upon touching his olfactory nerve, awakened in him a faint memory of fornication, which in turn, made his thoughts wander around enigmas of purpose and motivation, and what - if anything - was the difference between these two. Was the buzzing fortitude that drove the colorless images from one Wal-Mart to the next purpose or motivation? That is, the buzzing might have been in his head, like the buzzing of a silent movie projector, but the purpose or motivation animating them was real. Were purpose and motivation one and the same? What was their purpose? Of course, cosmogony, he thought; they wanted to know where they came from. But was that their purpose or motivation? And if they found out, if they knew with absolute certainty where they came from, how the world came about, what then? If a satisfactory answer could be found to a problem, then of course, this problem must have been - or when the answer was found - must become, a matter of purpose. Yes, he thought, if it would have been a question of motivation, then having found a satisfactory answer would have terminated the question, and then, the motivation to continue asking that same question would disappear. Therefore, the question, whence they came from, must have been a question of purpose. Then what is their motivation? What keeps them going on?
He was walking on yellow sand enjoying the crisp swish of crushing small pebbles under his feet. But the moment he stepped into a puddle, the tiny crystals refracted the sun into million stars, rising in slow motion and enveloping him in a halo of iridescent diamonds, and time stopped: he could clearly see every single ion, a world with purpose, but not a scruple of motivation. Yet it was so beautiful, so divinely beautiful, how could this be? The world out there, beyond the transparent walls was chock full of motivation and yet, it was colorless whereas here, even particles without an iota of motivation possessed indescribable beauty. Suddenly, he was stunned by the contrast between the world beyond the transparent walls and the vivid colors he was inhaling, while experiencing the music of insects, the numerous animals around him, and the few laughing people.
I am insane, he thought with glee. He took a last glance at the sepia silence beyond the transparent walls as if bidding it goodbye not without some longing and regret.
He enjoyed the warmth of the early spring day, enjoyed the sight of so many beloved animals, reveled in the sounds of his noisy little world. And then, his eyes fell on a being he has never seen before. It looked like a two feet coincidence between a cockroach and a tortoise; upon approaching it, he noticed the armor the creature was wearing. Gently, he took off the creature's helmet, and saw a fat smiling face with small eyes, brown skin like parchment untouched by Photoshop, and a grin... a heavenly grin - he had no better metaphor to describe what he saw.
"You are so sweet," were the only words he could not avoid uttering.
"You really think so?" the creature sighed with relief. "Everyone tells me I look angry," he explained while leaning on the transparent wall, kind of sitting on its tail.
"I see, you've met Creature," said a mysterious person, who could have morphed into a voluptuous blonde with enormous mammary glands, or Batman, but did not. "You see in him what you have," he explained, and went on his way.
| birds || sepia || science |
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