Garth shook the bottle in his hand and the funny little humans - pickled for eternity - were so compacted they hardly moved. He found it hard to comprehend that a species so primitive would be viviparous, thinking that they surely would lay eggs.
His father had given him a passel of the ugly little things for his fifth birthday, and he had watched them develop and multiply in the glass farm that had sat on his bedroom desk, this for what seemed the eternity of his childhood. He had found their mode of procreation odd then. But then they were mere insects and intellectually dulled life forms, but yet seemed industrious and he had marvelled at their efforts to achieve betterment, this always thwarted by their predilection for battle and want.
It was in his late teens that when thinking of the dire straits of his world, of overpopulation and resulting food shortages, he had considered these little humans might be a possible source of protein - a bar snack maybe - and his idea had progressed into that of pickling them in red hot spices. He loved the way they looked in the bottle, reminding him of foetuses bathing gently in amniotic fluid awaiting birth.
"Garth the quondam loser - now the man of the hour" he sighed happily. He picked one out. "Hello ugly" he grinned as he popped the tender morsel in his beak. Money money money, I’m in the money! Winner winner winner, I’m in the money!
(Meanwhile, back at the factory, his dad, the CEO of one of the world’s largest manufacturers of pesticides, almost burst with pride as production began of the new super-duper Humandead, a 100% guaranteed killer of the human bugs that ate the crops that should fill his belly, the fact that it killed all the other bugs that pollinated said crops mattered to him not. Who gives a toss, he thought as mental images of £ signs rushing into his bank filled his stupid little head. Who gives a toss?)
For Brendan at openweal open link weekend #9 – cheers Brendan