do you believe?

It was neither a he nor a she. It was amorphous, asexual. So were the rest of the members of its species. That is not so strange, there are numerous examples in your natural world that are neither male nor female, are sometimes both, or sometimes neither. But it did not come from your natural world. Notice the words I use, words have power, words are deliberate, words should be precise. It was amorphous in sexuality. But that is not so strange. What is strange, what will seem strange to you is the rest of it.

Here are some notes from its diary, circa 2032, somewhere in Asia (historians seem to be in two general camps as to where this is, and frankly, I have an opinion on the matter too, but let’s not focus on that for now. Some other time maybe).

The land that was once one, and then two, and then three, and now none.

Dated: 2032

I walk through the shifting sands, my eyes see the roars, and the swirling sounds as the dust scratches my tongue. I see the flapping of the birds that once must have been, I turn my gaze downwards, and can see the squirreling of the worms as they squirm, squishy, loud. I wiggle my ears, and I can hear the baking sun, almost as if it were one of their brownies, soft, delicate, put a fork in it, a pop as it releases the beautiful sounds of egg, and sugar, and mix. I can hear the carcasses, rotting, and putrid. I can taste the sands in my nose. Scratching it all their way in. I can taste the sorrow of what once was, and the relief that what it was was no longer. My nostrils smell the moisture, sweaty, and salty, baking under the crisp sun. My tongue tastes the roughness of the air, the sharp dust particles swirling about, rough, sharp edged, poignant. With my fingers and my toes, and my thumbs, I can see the landscape black, and grey, wisps of white, poison purple, burning red, calm shades of brown, the landscape is a portrait, a picture that tells that story, a thousand stories, a million words. I start stomping on the grounds, my feet blink, blinded.

Do you see?

Do you notice?

Maybe you do, maybe you dont. Maybe your head made sense of it like you do of puzzles, and adapted. Without you knowing. Maybe you didn’t. And it must be giving your head a good not so fun run-around. But not for the one who experiences it like that. Just for us, we who do not see the world like that, through our feet. 

Do you see?

Did you notice?

Imagine reading this after a month, just the notes in the diary, not being able to make heads nor tails of it. What would you think? What would you believe? Imagine being there before they landed. Before it all. Would you believe their story, would you believe in their words, so different from your own. Their meanings, their experiences, so vastly different.