We Are One
16 September 2006 21:10![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
skonen_bladesWe bought some failclips off of a dragonman on the way to Scarberry Track. The rags rustled over his dry scaly skin. Another leftover from the war. These poor splices never started off as people. A certain percentage of humanity still existed in the glitter of their eyes.
There was an age of bronze. There was an age of information. This the age of the flesh.
We change bodies like the olders would change socks.
The line has blurred between fauna and flora. Plant and animal percentages are added and subtracted as needed to a person’s genetic makeup. The only death that happens now is a result of violence or disease. There is no ‘old age’ anymore. The viruses have panicked and are trying to find a foothold in the society that has become a raging sea of chromosomes and DNA strands.
There are flesh eating viruses more voracious and speedy than piranhas. They can riddle a person in hours. They wipe over the surface of the world. Every dog died one year and so did most of the people with any percentage of dog in them.
Humanity has become a soup. Even the term has evolved to include everything here on this protected earth. We have chromosomes as long as phone numbers. If variety is the spice of life then we are now living in a four-chili curry.
Take the people I’m with, for instance.
Tara is mostly tree on the outside with some snake thrown in for locomotion. She has a cluster of spider eyes on the front of her trunk and long ivy-covered arms that have the long strength of an orangutan but the coloring of a giraffe.
Brent has a cluster of legs around the edge of the base of his huge torso. He moves with an even clattering gait that brings to mind a crustacean of some sort, if crustaceans had bred with gorillas. His black somber face belongs in the jungles of the Borneo mountains but his mouth mandibles belong in a colony of insects.
Trish’s wings drag uselessly behind her. They are no longer necessary and she has had them evolved to dissipate. It’s going to take another three days for them to atrophy and rot off. She has been changing the most rapidly out of the four of us but that’s probably because she’s only 310 years old and she’s still trying to find herself.
I’m a collection of sticks that whisper out from a central stump and flower in the spring. I have an intelligence nestled in the heart of me. I’m coated in photosynthetic feathers on the top of my many legarms and geothermal lichen on parts of me that are most often in the shade. I’ve kept a human mouth below the bear snout.
We’re late for the train that we can see docking at Scarberry Track. The failclips will make sure that we can keep up with the train if we miss it. The dragonman hisses a goodbye to us and makes his way to the next batch of customers.
tags
There was an age of bronze. There was an age of information. This the age of the flesh.
We change bodies like the olders would change socks.
The line has blurred between fauna and flora. Plant and animal percentages are added and subtracted as needed to a person’s genetic makeup. The only death that happens now is a result of violence or disease. There is no ‘old age’ anymore. The viruses have panicked and are trying to find a foothold in the society that has become a raging sea of chromosomes and DNA strands.
There are flesh eating viruses more voracious and speedy than piranhas. They can riddle a person in hours. They wipe over the surface of the world. Every dog died one year and so did most of the people with any percentage of dog in them.
Humanity has become a soup. Even the term has evolved to include everything here on this protected earth. We have chromosomes as long as phone numbers. If variety is the spice of life then we are now living in a four-chili curry.
Take the people I’m with, for instance.
Tara is mostly tree on the outside with some snake thrown in for locomotion. She has a cluster of spider eyes on the front of her trunk and long ivy-covered arms that have the long strength of an orangutan but the coloring of a giraffe.
Brent has a cluster of legs around the edge of the base of his huge torso. He moves with an even clattering gait that brings to mind a crustacean of some sort, if crustaceans had bred with gorillas. His black somber face belongs in the jungles of the Borneo mountains but his mouth mandibles belong in a colony of insects.
Trish’s wings drag uselessly behind her. They are no longer necessary and she has had them evolved to dissipate. It’s going to take another three days for them to atrophy and rot off. She has been changing the most rapidly out of the four of us but that’s probably because she’s only 310 years old and she’s still trying to find herself.
I’m a collection of sticks that whisper out from a central stump and flower in the spring. I have an intelligence nestled in the heart of me. I’m coated in photosynthetic feathers on the top of my many legarms and geothermal lichen on parts of me that are most often in the shade. I’ve kept a human mouth below the bear snout.
We’re late for the train that we can see docking at Scarberry Track. The failclips will make sure that we can keep up with the train if we miss it. The dragonman hisses a goodbye to us and makes his way to the next batch of customers.
tags
no subject
Date: 20 Sep 2006 02:05 (UTC)