Evolutionary Poetry & Fiction
My
name is Bill. I am a hunter-warrior writing to you from the past. When your
people learn to read the words that I have written on this cave wall, I will
be dust blowing in the winds. I am writing these words to describe a horror
that has befallen my people. I write these words in the hope that someday you
will discover why we did these things to ourselves and that you will not repeat
them.
I live here, in this cave. I do not know where it is located. Some of the younger
males have noticed that the Sun stays in the same place as it travels through
the skies. It is hot all the time. The Sun seems to be in the sky all the time.
It gives us no rest. It makes our bodies lose water that we can not afford to
lose. The hotter the day, the less our group can travel when we go on a hunt
for food. And it seems that each day seems longer to travel. Maybe it is because
I am getting old. I am approaching my late thirties. I can no longer run along
side the hoofed herd like I once used to. The younger males tease me and tell
me I will soon be food for the Black One that follows the same herd we do. They
are right. I fear that my time will be soon as it appears that all our food
sources are disappearing. When there is no food for our tribe, there is also
no food for the Black One. The old ones of our tribe have talked around the
campfire of a similar period in our tribe's past. I like to listen to the old
ones. They tell stories of things past. They teach us things so that we become
better hunters and do not waste our time chasing the wrong game. They talk of
things that their old ones told them when they were young, around ancient campfires.
They told stories of our beginnings.
The old ones taught us of how we became groups. They said that we came together
because in a group, our numbers multiplied our courage against the elements
and predators of nature. They taught us that when our voices were joined together
we could scare away all but the hungriest of beasts. They told stories of when
times were good, when the grass grew tall as a warrior and we had more food
than we could possibly eat. They said that there was so much food that when
the hunter-warriors were done eating, the sharing was so plentiful that it would
last for several days. Fruits and berries lasted for a week or more. Then the
old ones brought the stories to my time of remembering, in my youth not that
long ago. When I was born, we were already in a social group, and with this
grouping and sharing grew trust. We trusted others to share what food they had.
We trusted others to help us share fire and shelter. We trusted others to watch
over us as we slept. We became brothers and sisters.
Times were good. The years passed, and good rains and sun brought the tall grass
again. Small game abounded in the bush and larger animals came to feed on them.
We learned to hunt the larger beasts in groups. There was laughter amongst the
campfires. At night, as we laid on our backs and looked up at the wonder of
the stars, we talked about what those bright dots could mean. As our numbers
grew, our group became a clan. Our clan became a tribe. We became strong. We
became one family. A birth was celebrated by all, and a death was mourned by
all.
Then the sun came and the rain stopped.
The wind blew all the time and dust squinted our eyes; it filled our mouths
and gritted our teeth. The grass stopped growing and the small game disappeared.
Then the large animals who fed on the small animals disappeared as well. My
hunting group could no longer find food. We went out each day and brought back
less and less. We all became frightened and whispered dark things amongst ourselves.
The children began to cry themselves to sleep for lack of food. And the wind
blew all the time. Some said the sound was the dark ending of permanent sleep,
approaching.
Then the choosing began.
As a tribe, we were made up of many clans. As the food began to become more
scarce, the sharing became less and less, and then stopped. Those clans who
were blessed with the most sons managed to find the most food. As they were
the strongest of the clans, they could travel for days with little water and
food and bring back what they could. When they did bring food back, their first
thoughts were of their immediate clan. But because of their great hunger, they
ate more, and because they ate more, there was little or nothing left to share.
Our family became less then it was. The laughter that was once around the campfires
was gone. Cries of hunger and tears of loss were everywhere. Those that had
some food to give, now had the power to choose who was to receive that food.
Small groups of warriors were formed to assist those clans with the most food.
It was their job to keep the food store safe.
It was a terrible time. Those with food became strong, those without became
weak and humiliated. The weak and unfortunate, if lucky, were only sent to the
fringes of society.
If somehow you manage to read these words from the cave walls, then do this:
make sure that there is food for all. The rest will follow.
August 1995
