An old man sits by the stretching fire. The milky moon and stars glance down upon him, but his sight had worsened that year. His ears begin to simply ring. He feels sharp pains in his body, years of use.
Two children emerge from the mouth of the cave. They are the old man’s whole world. He wishes to live long enough to see them until their cycles start. Then they will leave and become women in another tribe, larger with more meat, and he wouldn’t have to worry about the other animals in the dark, or the burdens he doesn’t want to slip from his tongue.
“Children! Your grandpa loves you. Little Sahai, what is in your hand?” The old man moves closer to the girl. And then he sees it, a piece of metal and rubber. Only he knows these words.
Sahai! Throw that into the under-waters. You know you aren’t supposed to have objects from before, neither to keep nor climb on. Those days are past those that lead to destruction, pollution, and a loss of purpose!”
Sahai throws them into the black abyss of the dark cave then comes back to the fire, to warmth and light.
“Grandpa, what do those words mean?”
He slapped her across the face, “Words that will never fulfill the world again. Do not ask.”
Sly, the other girl shakes her head, not knowing what he is saying but agreeing, nonetheless. The night creatures coo and sing a sweet melody.
The old man, bits of leaves in his beard, lets out a sigh. Humanity had done so much to corrupt itself before reasoning they were not created to use machines, to tempt the Earth with its inventions, no, to dream of reaching the stars beyond. He figures if they stay in their space, he’d stay in his. He grew tired and laid back.
All the wisdom in the universe couldn’t make humans into gods.
Death was worth true love, true nature, true existence.
