Archive for February, 2015


 

tower_of_babel Artist: Paul Gosselin, Description Belgian painter Impressionist

The Experiment

 

The colossal entity watched as the small beings struggled to finish their tower.

“They work diligently,” remarked his companion who was observing the ongoing construction with him.  “Will they be allowed to complete it?”

“No,” was the reply.  “I have been ordered to stop them.  They seek to challenge us; they even think that by remaining there together, they can successfully war against us.  But, they must disperse out into the world as commanded.  If permitted to finish this building, that will not occur.  They will stagnate at this level.”

“Perhaps if you were to demonstrate to them that they cannot win at such an action, and tell them they must scatter in order to grow–”

He shook one of his middle heads while turning the far left one to consider his companion.  “Demonstrations do not convince them for long, and they have been told; however, they have no understanding of the meaning of a stagnant society, and see no merit in separating.”

His companion contemplated this in silence for a moment, the three eyes in her farthest head on her right blinking at him thoughtfully, then she shrugged her many shoulders, her rows of iridescent wings shifting slightly, and said, “I suppose you are right.  Still, they are resourceful, and, occasionally one will listen.”  She chuckled with five of her throats.  “I thought surely they would all be washed away when our project head became angry and decided to terminate our handiwork.  I am glad he relented and allowed the building of the ark.  At least some survived.”

“Yes, it is also good that they are prolific, otherwise they would be too few to be viable.  But now, they must disband into separate groups for diversification, or this will still fail, and they will never become that for which we are striving.”

He surveyed the little bipeds scurrying up and down the path that spiraled up the side of the brick-built tower, urging their work animals on.  They were nearly finished.

He sighed with regret as he activated the neuron scrambler that would disrupt the language center in their brains, causing their one language to become many.  He would not have minded seeing the tower completed.  Though crude, it was quite an interesting artifact.

He was impressed that these creatures they had fashioned from microscopic organisms and cultivated over such a short span of time, had already been able to do this.  But, the tower had to go.  This action was imperative in order to enable them to advance and reach a certain level.

He switched on the teleporter and began shifting the tiny individuals to different areas of the small blue globe.

Then, he and his companion watched with satisfaction as the miniscule beings, who believed them to be gods, oriented themselves and began to band together in small groups.

The project head would be pleased.  The experiment to prove this a good method of bringing their necessary food to a nutritious fruition was back on track.

 

END

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“I don’t know.”  He shook his head, dubiously.  “Are you sure we shouldn’t stay out of this?”

“It needs to stop,” she replied.

They watched the couple as they snarled and screamed, angrily going at each other with everything they could get their hands on.

“Ooo…that was nasty! Hurry!”

He nodded and loosed his arrows at the two, striking both.

The angel dropped her lightning and the demon dropped his fireballs as they ran and clasped each other in a tight embrace, cooing sweet words of eternal love.

“See, Cupid? Told you it would work!” exclaimed Venus.  “Love always does.”

End

Book 1 of the Spaceships and Magic series

I mourn as I try to hold the ragged fragments in my hands.  They bleed through my fingers, falling softly and settling into a small, sad heap.

My heart is heavy as I make careful attempts at rescue.  It is of no use.  Try as I might, I cannot make it whole again; my feeble efforts only cause further damage.

I voice my anguish to an empty room.  It was a great idea for a story, written on a napkin.  Why didn’t I empty the pockets of my jeans before I threw them in the wash?  Now it’s forever gone.

End

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