The Dying Philosopher

Originally posted on Tales of the Parodyverse.

Characters in this story are owned either by myself, or other posters on the Board.

The storms of the dark times have ceased, and the atmosphere is slowly clearing. Still, the soft light of day no longer warms my carapace as it did in summers past, when I lived...

Well, perhaps I am getting a little ahead of myself. I am old amongst my kind, and a natural philosopher to boot. I have seen eight dark times, and do not look to survive a ninth. My own people think me strange, since old age and philosophy are things that belong to the greatest of the great fliers. "Other creatures are for eating", they say, "or hiding from".

In my youth, at the edge of the world, I would have agreed. Life was hard and the dangers were many. These days, many of the threats I ran from or fought now run from me. Now I have time to think about life, and how strange our world truly is. Perhaps philosophy is a disease that you catch as you grow older.

I suppose I should start by describing the world as I see it. From my home the world stretches in one direction to the edge of the world, where the atmosphere becomes thin before yielding to the void and where the wind whips those who dwell there in all directions, and in the other direction to the vast abyss, where the ground drops away into the darkness. The abyss is far from me - I only know of it from speaking to the great fliers, whose flight takes them over (and sometimes into) the abyss. Their songs tell of worlds on the other side of the abyss, worlds that I will never live to see, and of the strange creatures of the abyss.

I used to live at the edge of the world. As I have said, life was hard. The swirling atmosphere dashed me against rocks; sometimes it fled entirely, leaving me gasping until it returned. Competition for food was fierce and quickly learned to eat what was in front of you.

Of course, you paid attention to the creatures around you. The sessiles (another group of philosophers, although if you spend all your days stuck in the same place I suppose you don't have much to do except think) were seldom a threat, but you could not turn your back on the other creatures, even...especially your own kind. You watched the fliers, the scuttlers, the sessiles and the floaters. Sometimes you ate them - alive if necessary. I remember once one of the greater floaters was carried by the storms of the dark times and stranded, unable to escape in the turbulent winds of the edge. One of my regrets is that I never spoke to him (or her: it is often hard to tell), but in those days philosophy was...unknown to me.

Sometimes you mated with your own kind. The world must be peopled.

Then there were the Others. Great creatures that appeared from nowhere, looking like no known creature. Sometimes they rested on the ground like sessiles, reaching to the very limits of the atmosphere; then they blundered through the atmosphere like the clumsiest of fliers; sometimes they vanished entirely. They seemed to have no method of feeding or sensing, yet they very rarely attacked, and often drew back when threatened. They were always accompanied by a strange aroma, completely alien. When I succumbed to philosophy and began talking to the sessiles, they assured me that the Others usually appeared between the dark times.

The Others were responsible - unwittingly, I assume - for my fall into philosophy, for the day I discovered the truth about our world. Well, one truth, at any rate. If the songs of the great flyers are to be believed, there are many worlds and many truths. This happened some time after my third dark time - a fine age for my kind. I had grown to a great size (for my kind), and was already preparing to leave the edge of the world.

On this fateful day I was out scavenging when I came across the strangest thing. A large chunk of flesh that smelled strongly of one of the lesser flyers, but also a faint reek of the Others.

I fastened on to it almost at once: meat is meat, wherever it comes from, and I could tell from the scent that this was fresh. Almost as soon as I had a grip on it, the morsel flew up into the atmosphere, taking me with it. I was so surprised by the action of what should have been a piece of dead flyer that I let go, floating slowly back to the ground. The morsel also fell back to the ground, somewhat quicker - but floating for the last portion of its fall, about five times my height.

I attacked the morsel again. This time the morsel jumped to one side slightly. As before, this was not how I expected dead flyer to behave. On my third attempt I managed to seize it and wrap my legs around it. This time I was not dislodged when the morsel jumped. Neither did I let go when it flew back through the atmosphere again. As the atmosphere whistled past carapace I wondered if this was what the flyers felt as the moved from place to place. Then the morsel flew out of the atmosphere into the void outside.

It is difficult to describe being in the void beyond the world. Of all living creatures only the sessiles ever live in the void, and they survive by closing in on themselves, or by clamping themselves tightly to the ground. On the rare occasions one of my kind is thrown into the void by the swirling winds of the edge we run back or (if the ground permits) burrow down and wait things out. Yet here I was, further into the void than any of my kind has ever gone. At least, ever gone and returned to tell the tale.

At this moment I felt something gripping my carapace (just at its widest point, where I cannot see or reach), and the morsel started to pull away from me again. I held on grimly until it ripped itself from my grasp, all the while trying to tear bits of meat from it. Once the morsel had gone I flailed wildly with my legs and claws and somehow managed to break the hold of whatever creature was gripping me.

This may have been a mistake. Without an atmosphere to support me I fell to the ground and was - for a moment - stunned. As I tried to gather my wits, I felt some force pressing me into the ground and the grip being re-established on my carapace. I scrabbled to find some purchase on the ground, but was ripped away before I could establish a grip. As I was pulled deeper into the void, I saw two of the Others, side by side. As I rose (if I can use that term), what I had taken to be two creatures suddenly merged in to one, a vast abomination completely unlike anything in the world. When I was brought level with the highest part of this creature I realised with dread why the Others had never had any visible means of feeding or sensing: Before me were the eyes and maw of this unknowable creature, the eyes and teeth glinting in the light of the void.

I had less than a fleeting moment to realise this, before I was dropped into what I can only refer to a tiny world with almost no atmosphere. There were three other scuttlers like myself, and one or two fliers. The sparse atmosphere was still and stank of both fear and some alien stench quite unlike the Others.

It is impossible to tell how long we were trapped in this miniature alien world. At length, the world shook, twisted and fell away, and we suddenly found ourselves floating amongst familiar smells of home. All I can say is terror must have made the time seem longer, as I was barely more hungry than when the whole episode began.

Those who were trapped with me quickly forgot their plight. They had been whisked straight into the alien world, and not seen the Other at all. Besides, they were young, and more interested in where the next meal was coming from.

I, on the other hand, had seen the true form of the Others with my own eyes. At the time the experience terrified me - I expected to be eaten alive - but the Other released me without harm, and to this day I still have not discerned why it acted as it did.

I left the edge of the world that day, travelling to the middle lands where the winds are less strong and the songs of the greater flyers echo all around. As I travelled I began talking to the creatures around me, discovering that the world I see and experience is different to that of the sessiles, the floaters, the flyers and even the other scuttlers besides my own kind. Yet even now I have not yet attained sufficient knowledge to understand the action of the Other.

I am old amongst my kind, having seen eight dark times, and I do not look to survive a ninth. I have spoken with the great flyers, and they have agreed to carry me to the abyss. I will fall into the abyss to speak with the creatures there. I may yet find the wisdom I seek, before the weight of the world crushes my life from me.

Footnotes:

Like "The Proper Care and Handling of Small Pets", this is not exactly a Parodyverse story. The idea came to me on holiday last week, and I thought that the board might like a diversion from the rampant sex and dropping of hints to Visionary that has been going on lately. I even eschewed any Monty Python references.

For the terminally confused, I should explain that the story is about a crab (average lifespan 3 yeras, peaking at 7 to 8 years) whose viewpoint is changed when he is caught by some humans crabbing. Given this, you can probably understand the rest of the story. Yes, this was inspired by my recent holiday.

It was originally intended to have a sort of H.P. Lovecraft Horror tinge to it, but I don't know how well that has worked out in practice.