Gorillas in the Midst

This entry is part 12 of 16 in the series MicroFiction

The jungle stank of gorilla shit and burned paper. The sun was setting, beams of light streaking from the horizon between the thick vegetation and illuminating the haze around the small cabin. If the gorillas were still around, they made no sound.

Ted picked through the ember-edged sheets of paper that had mostly survived. Every so often, his hand moved too quickly and ignited the sheet, forcing him to try and stamp it out against his sooty chest, or abandon it to the flames.

Part of him was wishing that the jungle would just burn down, but it was currently too damp.  The rain from that morning had drenched the region, and even the air itself was saturated with water.

It didn’t matter. The papers didn’t matter. Recent events had pretty much rendered them pointless.  He supposed that the new papers he would be writing when he returned to civilization, would be even more groundbreaking. Assuming he wasn’t laughed out of the sciences.

He supposed that, in a way, it was his own fault.  He had taught them how to smoke.  He had taught them how to drink. He had taught them how to appreciate really shitty pop music.

He had taught them how to be assholes.

I wrote this last week in my sleep. I’ve been staring at it for an hour now, and have no idea where it was going. So, it ends here.

AB

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