Archive for the ‘Luc Reid’ Category
Not Looking Down
Friday, October 29th, 2010
This continues the series “Outcasts on Earth,” which also includes the stories “The Winter Life,” “Secret-Runner,” and “Of the Third Sex, in a Park.”
I think it is our bulging compound eyes and our tentacled upper mouths that cause humans to fear us, whereas it should be our overpowering intellect and our masterful coordination.
But we have thoroughly investigated Earth and found it not worth acquiring, so my kind has left. Only a handful of us have been ordered to remain, vigilant for signs of human interference in our resource networks or for unexpected opportunities that would make invasion a reasonable investment.
Oh, Loathesome Gods of Dust, how I wish every day to find an opportunity.
I think humans would not treat us well even if our visages did not frighten them. We vary in size, but I am considered tall and am only just above a meter in height. Earth is pestiferously inconvenient for me.
Desks and counters are generally set above my eye level. Switches and knobs are often out of my reach. I cannot get leverage to open windows. I cannot reach faucets to make water flow. I have great difficulty climbing up onto Western-style earth toilet seats when I have to shed grillnkh. I cannot see in movie theaters unless I sit in the front row, and then I have to tilt my upper head back so far that my muscle hinge aches for hours after.
At this particular time I am standing at a junction of streets in an Earth city. They have a primitive means of keeping pedestrian activity isolated from vehicle activity whereby the pedestrian presses a button, and after an inexplicable pause, signal lights tell the vehicles to stop and the pedestrians that the way is clear. The button for these signal lights, of course, is just out of my reach. I am straining to reach it now.
“I feel you, brother,” says a human voice, and someone jabs the button with an umbrella. I turn to see a human sitting in a chair that has been fitted with four wheels, the ones in back much larger. He tucks his umbrella into a backpack slung behind him.
A moment later, the permission to walk is granted symbol appears. “We may walk now,” I say.
“We may?” he says. “Aah, I’m just not feeling like walking today.” He rolls forward into the crosswalk.
I follow, unable to help fhuuling in amusement despite knowing how it disturbs some humans.
“Holy shit, son,” says the human, laughing. “How do you even do that?”
With my lower mouth, I smile in the human fashion. How strange to like one of the people you crave to destroy.
The Edges of Creation
Thursday, October 21st, 2010
No one was as surprised as the two gods themselves when their creations collided.
“My ocean!” cried Forian, whose creation entailed a series of archipelagos with unpredictable volcanos erupting in what would eventually be found to be a fiendishly complex but utterly predictable pattern, if the mathematics of his race of sentient amphibians ever reached that level.
“What are you doing to my wasteland?” called Hronakolnavololgok, the bronze-eyed, many-taloned creator whose awkward wooden people clawed a meager living from land anenome farming punctuated with bouts of lunatic warfare.
What indeed? The infinite ocean, no longer infinite with the smoking wastelands encroaching on it, poured out across what had been a landscape of unrelieved, sun-broiled rock. It was a disaster of cosmic proportions whichever way you looked at it, with what was meant to be infinite, unpassable, and bounding suddenly becoming interrupted, variegated, and full of possibility.
Forian and Hronakolnavololgok rushed furiously against one another, throwing angels, lightning bolts, pestilences, mountain ranges, black holes, and other annoyances at one another’s infinite, omnipotent selves. They were occupied with this for quite a while, actually, and since neither could be harmed but neither would ever run out of ways to try to harm the other, there was little to keep them in check.
Ages passed this way. When the two gods finally stopped clashing, glaring at one another across the vast firmament, it occurred to first one, then the other to look down at their respective creations, which had long since melded. Without godly protection, a measly few million years had reduced both efforts to airless expanses of dust.
Both gods instantly translated themselves to different spheres of existence in utter disgust.
Down on the surface, nothing moved … but if we were to look closely, we would be able to just make out the eroded shapes of grand monuments– first one or two, then dozens, then thousands–all erected in celebration of five hundred thousand years of glorious peace and cooperation between the amphibian people and the wood people in their accidentally verdant and bounteous world.