Jeremiah is a bullfrog. A bullfrog with a short tail. North American at birth, one may think him lucky to be one of the State Amphibians of Missouri and Oklahoma. Jeremiah grew up in a free country, one that embraces Man’s freedom of rights. And this was one lucky frog? No. Sadly, the term “Freedom of Rights” does not apply to frogs.
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My dad died at the hands of a creature, which our society referred to as the Other. It was a male, a bipedal primate with a height of about six feet tall. In his right arm he carried an intricate marriage of wood and metal, approximately a metre long. Somehow, there was this familiar sound that resounded through the forest swamp each time that object was brought to a horizontal angle with the wide end to the creature’s eye, the narrow end fixated on one of my stationary relatives. In most instances, the creature froze, riveted to the spot for about two to three seconds, before that familiar sound was heard. We all knew that sound. The sound that draws away life’s energy. The sound of death. And we all knew that putrid air that densely surrounded those unwanted carcasses that they left behind.
It was the Others. This unique species perpetuates nature’s endless chain of prey and predator, in a different way. Just like our other enemies, the Other preys on our species. Nature has a law dictating only survival of the fittest. Can’t blame the Others too much, since we happen to be below them in the food chain. Though I grieve morose tears, I guess we can only blame it on my dad’s hard luck that day. Sometimes the Others prey to fulfill nature’s commandments, but most of the time for what they call “Entitled Amusement”.
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Some of the Others call themselves “Protectors of Nature”. Rumor has it that they swore an oath to protect the integrity of the forest. I guess they are kind Others, caring for our welfare and the forest community. Just like the kind Cats in the city who refuse to catch Mice. I still remember my late uncle, and how he passed away on the operating table at the Hospital. It was a sad story. He died with a scalpel cutting his body open. The Other in a white coat took out his still beating heart and held it on forceps. Seconds later, my uncle passed out and never regained consciousness. The instant his heart stopped beating, the Other clicked a button on a small black device, and recorded a series of numbers on the piece of white paper on the table.
“Passed Away: 14:44.”
Up till now I still do not know why Hospital is spelt as “L-a-b-o-r-a-t-o-r-y”. Maybe it’s a synonym. But what continues to puzzle me is why he was sent there by the Other when they captured him. He was in the pink of health, though he looked greenish-brown like all of us. As far as I know, he wasn’t sick. Nor was he dying. But he died resisting treatment for his illness, silently screaming for help from behind the glass window. We couldn’t do anything even if we wanted to, as the four Others inside the white box would have overpowered us anyway. The Others call this deadly disease “Science”.
Maybe if my uncle didn’t resist, the Others would have cured him. Maybe.
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A few trucks came today. Had a few Others inside. Came with chainsaws and all and fell a couple of trees. About twenty to thirty of them were logged and lugged into the lorry. Said it was something imperative, otherwise known as a small sacrifice for a long-term investment. Something really profound called “Societal Advancement”.
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I had gone without food for five days. Alright, maybe I had a snack or two on a passing insect. But my gastric pains were rather excruciating. My soul pined for the life it used to lead. My hind legs were weak. My frail frame fought against the lethargy that was seeping into my nerves. But I knew I shouldn’t fall asleep. Forty winks for a pint of blood? The 40:1 ratio doesn’t really convince me.
For my life was in grave danger, as I was part of nature’s prey-predator relationship. And a target of “Entitled Amusement” for the Others. My home stood in the way of “Societal Advancement”, and it was almost more than common logic that hiding myself was the smartest bet. A midget’s step past that thin boundary between us and the Others would signal a need to be treated, as in that case, we would probably would have contracted “Science”, the deadly virus.
That familiar sound again. It was an Other. The same one who had killed my dad. Or so he looked like him. I saw my cousin gather his strength to take the leap of his life. But I was too weak. My limbs would not obey me. The Other was closing in on me. His beastly shadow merged into mine. Perturbation and trepidation pervaded the disquieting atmosphere.
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Among the beasts in nature, only the strongest creatures survive. The strongest beast is king. The king of nature, the Other, boded second to none. All who stood in his way would be consumed by virtue of Nature’s Law. This beast proved to be the most powerful.
Jeremiah was a bullfrog. A bullfrog with a short tale.
Over increasingly large areas of the United States, spring now comes unheralded by the return of birds, and the early mornings are strangely silent where once they were filled with the beauty of bullfrog song. --- Rachel Carson.
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The Other has taken the world for his. Yet, does he accord that least amount of respect to its inhabitants?
And we ask ourselves the age-old question that keeps resurfacing. Is America truly the Land of the Free?
slashed at 10:57 PM .
