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?)
Anna
:o]
