Gobble - Short Story
Mankind contemplates many strange things while we spend this short limited life here. What is the universe composed of? The vast ever-expanding universe that is stretching more than my belly; what makes of the components that we cannot reach or see? And what of the stars in our galaxy? How are they aligned? Is it random? Or was some actual thought put into it? And why are they there to be with? Did something make the stars, like how some cookies? If so, where is that thing? It would be nice of it to show up and take credit for such an honor.
What of life here in this world? Is there a proper way to live? A higher standard that we should have for ourselves that transcends time and place? Is right or wrong a matter of the victor or some higher truth that we have to acknowledge? And if that is the case, who gets to decide that truth?
Is the thing that created the stars the same thing that decided the higher truth?
Woah, and I thought I worked too hard.
If the thing that created the stars and decided the truth ever got into blogging, then I’d be screwed.
Imagine making everything and then being like, “Now I am going to make some laws for all this stuff, so shit doesn’t get too crazy.” That is definitely worthy of OT if you ask me.
Some have even begun to ask of the name mankind. Mankind; has a lot of man in it and not a lot of woman in it. But women are half of our species, and according to women, they are the only right ones in our species. So are we mislabeling ourselves? Are we really humankind? (Which if we are, writers like me, have to deal with the unfortunate timing of that word as compared to the easy saying mankind. And yes, that does mean something. You think Dr. Seuss is popular because people like cats and green eggs? Timing people. It’s all about timing.) So what the heck do we call ourselves so that we represent everyone and also don’t mess up with the actual name. It isn’t a major question at first; the other questions of the stars and the truth are much more fun to ask. I mean, who doesn’t want to think of a star exploding in the sky? Can I video that? Is there a ticket I can get to get a front-row seat to a star exploding? Finding the truth is fun because we can all be a jackass to any stranger out there, asking them if their actions are helping them get to the truth. Also known as being Socrates. It’s fun to call out the hypocrite in the world. “Oh, so you care so much for healthcare, but not of the criminal activity going on? Do you care more about healthcare than criminals being put to justice? So you are okay with people getting healthcare if it means that fewer criminals are put in jail? What of the healthcare of a criminal, what do you make of it?” Everyone is a hypocrite if you ask them enough about the truth. But then there is representation of our species. It’s boring. Are we mankind? Are we humankind? Are we some other kind that we haven’t named yet? We are standing at the table with a nametag deciding what to write.
“Bob or Robert? Greg or Gregory? Kim or Kimberly?” If we ever want to know why we are lost as a society, it is because we are too stupid to even come up with a name for ourselves.
The party is going on inside, but we can’t decide what our name should be.
Mankind, or womankind, or as I like to call them idiots, has asked many questions throughout our time here and will continue to do so as long as we are around. We won’t get many answers and may even answer a few of the questions wrong. But you can’t keep a good man down, or asking questions, apparently.
So we may have been wrong about the sun? So we were wrong with the shape of the Earth? We are probably wrong with a bunch of things today that we will only discover years in the future. You know what, we tried. And these questions are really hard in our defense.
A question we have asked before is the behavior regarding not ourselves, but the other animals on this planet. The ones that Noah took on the arc. The ones that Zeus transformed into when he was feeling frisky. The ones that Dr. Dolittle spoke to in his office.
Are they like us? Do they think like us? Do they feel like us? What of emotions? Do they love? Do they hate?
I’m sure that the dog owners out there believe wholeheartedly that their pups not only love them but understand them on a level that humans don’t. Cat owners are ready to make the case that their cat is smarter than their kid. And nothing against the kid, but the owner may have a point. I don’t see the kid getting fed food and hiding up in the cabinet when he is in trouble. When the kid gets caught, the food is taken away, and he has nowhere to even hide. Stupid kid, tricks are for cats.
If animals acted so much like us, then why aren’t they us? What is the difference between you and a monkey? Or you and a shark? Or you and a giraffe. Not much, according to Darwin.
As much as we are all ready to hug our dogs, feed our birds, and pet our cats, we have to acknowledge that it is us that run the world. Not the animals. We are better than the animals we occupy this world with.
We, for starters, know that animals are not like us in regards to warfare.
I have never heard of a camel leading an army of other camels against an army of other camels. Boy, that would be a weird sight to see. A camel rallying the other camels in the name of their camel god. We aren’t only different from animals on the battlefield where our number in the thousands, but also in one-to-one confrontations of taking another’s life. Also known as murder. Humans kill without any gain, sometimes. Animals don’t do that. Another human being is fine with killing another human and not using them for anything. Another animal has to do someone with the corpse. Think; lions and how they eat every part of their prey, besides the bones.
We also separate ourselves on the positive side. Don’t worry. It isn’t only blood and guts that make us not gorillas. It’s art. I don’t see any monkeys making the Mona Lisa. I don’t care how many type-writing apes I get; none of them can write Shakespeare. Can a bird make a hit song like Seven Nation Army?
It begs the question of identity. If a dog acted like a human, in regards to its behavior, it spoke like us, ate like us, and even watched the same shows as us; at one point, is it a human?
It reminds me of the last scene in Animal Farm, where the difference between a human and a pig was negligible because the pigs became so much like humans. Can that really happen?
Storytellers have been using anthropomorphism for years. That is just a fancy word for animals that act like humans. Think; Bugs Bunny or Winnie The Pooh. Rabbits can’t play baseball. Bears don’t eat honey. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think that the animal was a human, but they are obviously not. If you make an animal that has no real human qualities, like a bunny or a bear, and has them act like a human, then the audience will treat the character as though it is human.
Do turkeys act like us? Do they talk to each other as we do? Do they like to listen to music like us? How would they react if they knew of what we do with them on Thanksgiving?
On a cold late fall night, in a farm pen were four turkeys preparing to end their night. The Elder, who has been in the pen since it started. The others in the group admired it for its wisdom and its ability to live for so long. The Largest who was the biggest of the four turkeys, and that none of the other four would dare match for its large size. It was, however, feeble to following the group due to its lack of coherent thoughts. The Smallest, who was the smartest of the turkeys, even smarter than the Elder, but also the smallest. The Kindest who was the happiest of the four because it found a good home in the pen, where it could be by itself.
The Kindest sat by itself humming a tune in its head, minding its business as the night came to a close. It drew sketches in the ground of four figures that were supposed to be of its friends. On top of the figures was one word written on the wooden wall, “FAMLY.”
The other turkeys stood in a circle of their pen with their beaks down. They were discussing a certain matter. A matter only the Elder has experience in, but that the Smallest had learned much about. He is the one who called the meeting that was just about ending.
“Gobble.” The Elder muttered to the other two.
The Smallest nodded, “Gobble?”
The Elder said, “Gobble gobble.”
“Gobble.” The Smallest looked over at its friend sitting by itself. “Gobble gobble gobble.” The Smallest said to the Elder.
The Smallest and Largest, who said nothing yet, walked over to the Kindest, who was still enjoying its last sketch of the night.
“Gobble gobble. Gobble gobble. Gobble. Gobble. Gobble. “ The Kindest sang aloud.
“Gobble gobble.” The Smallest addressed the Kindest.
“Gobble?” Said the turkey not involved in the group turning around to face the other two.
“Gobble. Gobble. Gobble gobble gobble gobble gobble gobble. Gobble.” The Smallest explained.
“Gobble? “ The Kindest looked at the other turkey who has not spoken yet. “Gobble?” The Largest nodded.
The Kindest looked around the pen for the Elder, but it was nowhere in sight.
“Gobble gobble gobble gobble gobble gobble. Gobble gobble.” The Smallest repeated.
Gobble! “The Smallest backed away from the other two.
“Gobble. Gobble gobble.” The Smallest said before the Largest grabbed it.
The Largest took the Kindest who was calling out for the whole pen to hear.
“Gobble! Gobble! Gobble gobble gobble! Gobble gobble gobble! GOBBLE! GOBBLE!
The Smallest looked away as the Kindest struggled.
The Largest took the Kindest to the center of the dirt-filled area and stomped on its face, knocking it out cold.
The two turkeys then hid behind a container along with the Elder.
A human opened the door to the pen and surveyed the area. “Oh, that turkey looks good.”
He picked up the turkey and headed inside.
If you go by the farm, you can still see the word “FAMLY” on the wooden wall. Everyone says it was one of the kids of the family, but the turkeys in the pen know the truth.
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