Spoiler! :
THE NIHILISTIC ANTELOPE
While we humans still lived in trees –
These fucking guys.
The red gaze of the sun set upon them and focused, like the scope of a long sniper’s rifle, upon him.
They stalk us, chase us, devour us; themselves as superior? They walk around on four legs as dumb as we do.
He felt their presence as if his father was speaking to him – “there. there. there.”
They won’t ever give me time to take a shit. God knows I eat grass all day – you’d think he’d have the common decency to give me five minutes to take a damn shit.
The tall grasses held a secret to the young. Held hindquarters twitching and raised, in an abstract readiness, to instigate an exercise of Darwin’s cruel laws of motion. Jaws dripping with fervor and a taste for blood found famous among gluttons. Eyes set narrow on a space a place and a time.
All the air of the space was sucked away, gone, as an amount of breaths were held in tension. The sun stung their eyes.
“Weeeellllllll, I guess it must be that time again -“as Bill moseyed up alongside him – “good luck old pal, and may God grant you speed, and even more graciously, luck.”
Phhff, Bill and his moronic superstitions – there’s no luck, no speed, and most certainly, no God - there’s only them; me; and death.
All the hunters and the hunted, breathless, in position – as planned? No. He’d always wondered who imbued these thoughts into Bill.
“I guess that this is the way it is then, old boy – yes! yes – old boy! The place in which we all find ourselves is I guess the place that we ought to be!”
Sun and more sun stretched into darkness on the horizon. Calls of the various concerned heralded the coming descent into blackness. The sun wept blood-red streams of gold, and burst, and baked, across the plain.
There an elephant wailed; a zebra lept. Flies buzzed in warning – beasts scattered in alarm. But not them. The grass is where the grass is.
Some heads were down and picking; some heads were up and chewing. A single blade of grass protruded from his mouth and hung and burnt and smoldered in the air. Children ran and mothers cried and fathers thought and felt. He eyes narrowed.
Fuckin’ Bill.
A wave of brown emerged. Bill ran and he ran. They all ran again. As always, again. The blade of grass folded in the wind around his head, and flapped in step and rapid step against his cheek. Which left a trail of light smoke behind him.
Motherfuckingcunts.
Hoof and paw met ground in rhythm. And grass fell beneath them as they went.
All that fresh grass. Those fuckers.
Mane and antler tossed the wind as they all raced into the sun, half-full. An eagle stalked along them from the sky. It dove and caught a mouse, escaping the tide.
We could be eating all this grass – that’s all we want is grass and water. There’s zebras and buffalo and apes for them. HERE’S A FUCKING IDEA: why don’t these yellow pricks eat the crocs and leopards and hyenas (who will in turn eat them as well)? Why not leave the grasses to us, the herbivores and the meat to them, the carnivores?
In constant motion with the herd, he moved, only trying to survive – to be the center mass of the herd; what he wanted?
These royal pigs. What right do they have to our flesh our bone our lives? The water that we drink the grasses that we eat and the lives that we live? They have none.
The casket rides at the edge of this funerary procession. In the dust.
Every day. Every motherfucking day they roar like beasts. For what? To strike fear? Impose their will? Reveal their nature? Their mindless rule. And to trample us beneath their feet like bugs.
In their own world – prey and poacher; brown and red; dust and sun and blood, pulsing blood and sound, constant sound. And fear – thumping, indefinite, constant fear.
For ages --
My back. My lowsy fucking back.
They ran upon the spine of the earth, as the trees and dirt bowed out from beside them and stretched down and away. The setting sun bleeding before them, the lions smelling and yearning for blood behind them. Deformed tongues lagging in the air, tasting and wishing.
To his left he saw Bill, grinning like an idiot in stride:
“Just go with the flow, old boy – you’ll be fine, some old sack is bound to collapse eventually; it’s only natural. Don’t feel ashamed.”
To his right, ahead of them, sat a steep cliff, worn orange by constant harassment. Bled orange. His heavy breathing matched his stiff pace.
These fucking animals have made me suffer enough for all the damned in hell to rise to heaven. If an easy kill is what they want –
He broke away from the herd and dashed for the wall with the last spare breaths he could afford to muster. He stopped. Planting his legs firmly upon the ground – back straight and down, head straight and down, legs bowed out at the knees. Extracting the burning grass from his mouth and holding it in the crack of his hoof, he bellowed and challenged, and took a stand. His eyes wide with passion.
“You fuckingcunts want something to eat?! Come get your fill of me!”
They needed no invitation. They surrounded and set upon him in moments. The leader, as should be expected, was the one to pin him to the earth.
“Yaaaaaaaaaahhh! Bite me; bite into my fuckingass real deep! Take me down and fucking eat me like the bitch that I am!”
They thrust themselves upon him like a ghetto’s worth of homeless upon a roasted ham.
“Fucking eat me! Eat me you fuckingpussies! Tell me – do I taste good?!?!?”
They fought over every piece of him. First they tore away his hind limbs. And he bled as profusely as a living thing is bound to do when they are cut in half.
“Do I taste like roasted chicken you flaming packet of faggots?!?! Yah!!Yah!!Yah!! Really dig into me…Oop! Better make sure junior gets some, and grandma too – Hell, let’s feed the whole fucking Serengeti while we’re at it!”
He felt no pain as they tore his front limbs from his shoulders, as they ate his heart. He felt some sort of euphoria, mania that one is bound to when acting irrationally. The hunt officially over, Bill stood apart from the herd in the distance, dumbfounded:
“Now why would the old boy go and do some stupid thing like that?”
“Want some salt motherfuckers?! Want some fucking seasonings?! Wouldn’t want the aftertaste to linger too long now would we??!! How about a side dish while you’re at it!? Don’t want ‘Ole King Fuzzy-Face to be left too hungry now would we???!!!”
The sun finally set on the plain that day, and the moon won another small victory that was to be lost again. Our hero was left as a skeleton against an orange cliff-face, beckoning to all, that he had achieved being eaten.
- the apes came to pick at his bones. A vulture circled high above in circles. As they used their stones to extract the marrow from his bones, they heard a lofty whisper in the back of their minds, in the deepest parts of their souls – the same that the children of the lion’s ancestor’s children’s children had been hearing for generations:
“Fucking eat me! all of me! you fascist whores – bitches, someday!”
A miniscule flame danced in the grass. One of the apes lumbered over to it. A pair of blades were lit, conceivably by a separate shard, its tip thrust into the lighted patch. The ape picked it up, examined it, and placed the cold end into his mouth. He narrowed his eyes, took a cool, cold and condescending look at the trees, and danced off.
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