The World: Pre-Vowels
Jm Stgsrs stumbled on the horizontal tree, knocked over last night by Tm Rx.
"Mthr f gd" he roared, falling to his front two knees.
Dinosaurs do not have names? Who is writing this? You?
Whip out your iPhone and rip off a shot of a pre-human ape laughing, three trees over. It would go viral on YouTube. And do it quick, because already, Jm has moved on, banging the side of a cave entrance with his nose-horn. Diverting pain a prehistoric concept, as viable then, as now.
The ensuing racket awakened the tiger within. Again, what's with the dental problems?
Yawning until both hemispheres of her head nearly snapped apart, Srh leaned against her mailbox, a paw to her muzzle. "Jm! t's Sndy! Lng wknd! M hsbnd's stll slpng!"
And with this, she coughed into a blackened sky, falling down.
Last night there was a party. Look at the dusty beer bottles strewn about if you doubt it. A rumour was making the rounds. An entirely new geological age was about to commence. A prophet had predicted that when the Great Glacier made it past Pleistocene Point [known then as Plstcn Pnt] new cranial developments would render current understandings obsolete.
"...bslt", the prophet intoned.
The chunk of ice rounded the foretold corner, just shy of midnight.
Every beast, nodding, thought it a reason to celebrate.
Wine flowed, among the ladies. The boys were cracking open beer caps with their eye sockets. Popping them off horns and backplates.
And then the meteorite struck.
At one point Jm, on the last night of the then-known world, climbed onto a picnic table, shouting many vowelless profanities, with joy in his heart.
But this morning he stumbled, and was the penultimate one to die.
Srh, the next to succumb.
Only the ape and his girlfriend, clinging to a branch, stuffing leaves before their noses and scrambling for cover, survived.
None of this was mentioned later, in the Bible or elsewhere.
But then again, who is writing this? You?
-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2014 --