Dispatches from the wilds of Proseambique – Scale

People who imagine immortality is boring suffer from a lack of perspective. Oh, sure, things that are once-in-a-lifetime for most people become routine; you see Halley’s comet so many times that eventually you don’t even bother looking up; you love every newborn son and daughter from the moment they’re in your arms, but you long ago gave up trying to remember their name; and your soul-mates become a long succession of faces slowly fading in the photo-album of your memories – but these are little things. Things that do not matter. Minor amusements – the domain of mortals.

It took ten-thousand years to turn desert lynxes into something you could share space with on your couch; ten-thousand years to turn wolves into chihuahuas. This is the kind of time you have to play with. So you breed, and refine, and breed, and refine with all the patience of the undying. You do the work of two hundred men, one after another other, and feel the satisfaction of two hundred lives well spent.

Until finally your miniature elephant curls up to sleep in your lap while your pocket-bear chews quietly on one of your socks, under the coffee table where she thinks you can’t see her.

Who could ever think that boring?

Advertisements
Published in: on July 28, 2011 at 11:59 pm  Leave a Comment  
Tags: , ,

The URI to TrackBack this entry is: https://spenceria.wordpress.com/2011/07/28/dispatches-from-the-wilds-of-proseambique-scale-2/trackback/

RSS feed for comments on this post.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s