Satire

(These events occurred following the destruction of the warship Montanus in a violent storm off the coast of a small island near the Pacific Rim, where I had just washed ashore the sole survivor.  As I neglected to record these events for the duration of my stay, several details may be untrue.)

The Mysterious Island of the Pords

I slogged away from the salty air and coursing waves into the widespread foliage where rows of immense trees arose from robust roots forming a sort of border against the sands.  The canopy leaves would nearly block the sun but were compelled by a gentle sea breeze to unremittingly sway and allow the sun’s rays to drip down the understory and onto the floor of the forest, concurrently illuminated by a multitude of flickering beings no bigger than a small child.  The ceiling was a mesmerizing plethora of colors as each creature evoked a brilliant new hue.  Many hummed lazily about the middle branches, nipping quietly at the shuddering leaves as they glided by before settling down to savor the taste among the roots.  There they would sit and ponder for a moment as the tinge surrounding their bodies fluctuated erratically. Still, their appetite for the leaves was insatiable and they would circle back and spiral up to the leaves again for another bite.  Still hidden on the outskirts of the boscage, I used my scope to peer closer on these creatures; their folded bodies demonstrated lives of comfort and complacency and their temperaments reflected a communal trust.  The shade of their auras radiated more intensely as one would pass another and some would momentarily pause to exchange leaves from the mouth.  I strolled placidly among the creatures whose brawny odor saturated the air and smoldered in foggy puffs about the stems of the trees.  Upon closer look this was a result of the light hitting the dust which fell from the tufts of fur adorning their heads and shoulders, and the sporadic flatulence: I postulate a side effect of digesting the fibrous tree matter. 

This insight inadvertently caused me chortle under my breath.  The creatures  immediately were alerted to my presence and I suddenly realized they were conversing via jungle vapors, a nerve system which allowed thoughts to travel along the miasma from one being to another, almost arbitrarily, yet seemingly deliberately, as it was detectable from the large glands on the sides of their bodies.  Their abstracted language was slipping into my mind.   The ruckus of new thoughts in my skull was almost overwhelming but my brain managed to carry on.  By simply inhaling the mists which descended downward, I was able to ascertain a general code of conduct the beings shared and found a common olfactory idiom.  While I could not speak their language, my comprehension was inevitable.  They were the Pords, deciphering precepts given to them by the trees, which they digested and emitted into the winds.  They believed the trees were the source of a moral gradient for their culture.  I learned that these clouds of Pord excretions were also the primary source of nutrition for the island’s autotrophs, located in a pool in the heart of the forest.  The Pords never looked at me for they had no eyes, but they were perceptive and empathized with my thirst for knowledge.  Several agreed to lead me to this primordial pool, grabbing leaves along the way as they clambered through the trees.  I followed along eagerly, learning from the Pords along the way that this pond was also the only source of freshwater for the trees on the island.  This implied that the source of moisture for all the trees was coming from a single source, a perplexing design.

My exhilaration at this discovery caused my hair to stand on end and my eyes began scanning the ground as I strolled along, suddenly obliged to observe the minute details of the roots, but the shimmering haze of the creatures above crackled and their thoughts began once again to drift into my own mind.  I looked up and noticed the glowing creatures approaching me from the higher branches of an especially large tree.  Their thoughts plunged inside me as if to shake my mind and say, “Here it is, look! Look here you simpleton, and see the truth!”

In the heart of the forest was a small clearing lit by a fickle pillar of light.  Little flowers covered the ground around its border, quivering and rising upright as the sun lapped at their petals.  Several Pords approached the perimeter of the pond, shaking the dust from their bodies onto the flowers below, acting as a kind of fertilization for the fragile flora.  Here the shimmering haze was evaporated and an entirely varied microcosm had formed separately in the water.   It was here the Pords came to reproduce, and indeed a clutch of eggs was tucked into the corner of the pond.  When they hatched, the young fed on the newly pollinated flowers until they grew large enough to climb the trees, where they would learn of the immaculate design of their remote home and the vital importance of their consumption in order to sustain the island.

The question of how one small pond could sustain so many large trees was still a mystery to me, and I assume the Pords as well since they shared no thoughts on the matter.  I stepped closer to the flower- enclosed bank but was suddenly compelled to go no further; whether it was because of my own hesitation or a subtle interruption by my companions I cannot say, but I turned and left the pond at that moment, never to look upon or ponder its mysteries again.  The notion of leaving  the island had not occurred to me until then, as the habitat seemed so fully realized in its serenity that I almost wished I could hunker down among the roots, although I knew any attempt to assimilate into such an infallible biosphere would be futile, and perhaps a hazard to this environment.  My provisions were running low, and the Pords had already returned to the tops of the trees to continue the unchallenged administration of their wondrous isle.