A long time ago, in a time beyond modern kenn there lay a
field. It was a pretty field. In the spring it shone with
golden highlights. During the summer it hummed with life and
vibrated with abundamce. In the autumn it swayed to the
music of the wind and laughed as the leaves of nearby trees
drifted through it, tickling it. In the winter it slept
under a blanket of snow and betimes it awoke and danced and
twirled as if taunting the lightnings and laughing at the
thunders.
The field had a keeper. He was a dejected looking creature,
always slighty hunched as he muttered to himself in a low
voice and cackled occaisionally. The keeper took care of the
field, weeding it, watering it during the dry seasons and
protecting it from various vermin. These vermin were legion,
from the cunning mole with its semi blind eyes glaring
wickedly full of hatred as the keeper foiled its plans yet
again to the mindless grub whose dogged approach to laying
waste to the field was expertly stopped at every turn by the
keeper. The tenacious rabbit, comfortable in its niche until
the keeper came and drove it away, having had to do so many
times as the rabbit tried every ploy in its vast repertoire
to regain its former position. Not even the beetle was proof
against the keeper's loyal defense and was ousted from its
safe perch among the stalks.
Thus passed the years, the field continued its happy
exsistence unaware of the dangers that stalked it at all
times only to be turned away by the keeper. Of late though,
more tricks, more ploys, plans and cunning endeavors
succeeded in bypassing the keeper's efforts that themselves
were not that dilligent, not becoming the keeper. He no
longer chased the rabbit with such an avid grin splitting
his face, longing for stew. No longer did he further his
store of nitroglycerin for those special mole traps, the
grub was now near proof from DDT sprayings which had once
occurred on a daily basis. And the beetle, oh the beetle, it
ranged free. At last it was able to alight on a stalk and
nibble without fear of the keeper's vicious counter beetler
- a product of bioengineering and nuclear radiation -
harrassing it for the keeper dared not set it loose without
supervision.
The field wept, the green stalks that once stood tall and
proud now drooped in sorrow for the keeper's neglect. The
field could not know, however, the turmoil going on behind
the keeper's apathetic look. Thoughts clashed and struggled
in a titanic battle as they fought to gain dominance and
reign supreme in the keeper's brain. Emotions and instincts
were forced to take sides and new motives were born. At last
only two warring sides remained in this horrible
free-for-all. Duty, haggard looking and running out of
reserves as its once strong ally Compassion was brutally
slain on the field of battle leaving Survival-Instinct and
Self-Interest as it sole supporters and rumors among the
neurons told of offers made to Self-Interest by the enemy.
On the other side of the battle line Apathy stood firm
strongly supported by Laziness, Hopelessness and Death-Wish
and the struggle went on. The war lasted for a time
immeasurable by any who cared to measure, but at long last
the final blow was stuck, Death-Wish played its trump.
Morning came as it oft did, the sun shrugged off its dewy
blanket and gazed reprovingly on the yellowing field and its
forlorn keeper. The keeper did not bother looking back for
he did not know this was the last morning he would see on
this world, but then he might not have cared. Duty
marshalled its forces and the keeper got out of bed, having
slept in his workclothes he picked up his shotgun and shears
and stepped out while inside a vicious counter attack by
Laziness that would have meant a lost day of work was turned
aside by Survival-Instinct. The sun climbed steadily and was
beating overhead when the keeper saw it. It was standing as
if it had not a care in the world munching on a carrot. The
field cried to the keeper, but he just stared at the rabbit
with his brain on neutral for Apathy had overwhelmed him.
The shotgun dropped from his hands. He could hear other
voices nearby, but could not turn, did not want to. A pink
nose burst from under a stalk of corn and the mole pulled
itself up gnashing its teeth. The beetle landed on a stalk
bending it with its bloated, well fed carapace. A line of
grubs crawled from the nearby depths.
The sun had reached it zenith when a shot was fired. And
though the sounds of chomping teeth, grinding mandibles and
sucking mouths did not carry far, they were heard aplenty.
And the field wept.