Trying something on for size, here. More than a little inspired by the very excellent film Beasts of the Southern Wild, this little germinating idea of mine wants to reach out and touch on reconciling lives touched by equal parts faith and science, when it comes to anthropomorphic characters.
I envision this part as being the excerpt of a much larger piece, a little bit of organic world building as seen through the eyes and stories of someone who has to inhabit that place.
Just looking for impressions on this one; it’s naught more than a germinating seed right now.
Mama says there’s always been folks. Some good, and some wicked. And when we let there be too many wicked, or maybe too many good, mama says God takes them home. She say that’s why God sent the Spongey. And took all the humans, long, long ago. And the dinosaurs before them. She says we are like ghosts of what God made. She say now we getting our chance to be fine or wicked, too.
I ask if the dinosaurs got to come back, when the people? Maybe when the Spongey goes away? Then Papa says hush, puppy, and eat your food that God grew for you in the chicken eggs.
Chickens don’t talk and play with me. Why they can’t walk and talk and be good folks like a puppy. I think it’s because chickens is all wicked. But Tomkit says his chicken don’t bite much and likes to cuddle. Maybe God just don’t like chickens as much. Mama says maybe birds get to fly like the angels, so God didn’t have to give them brains for much else. But chickens don’t fly, I said to mama.
She said they don’t fly far. And don’t you go throwing chickens around to see how far, puppy. I did that once and papa gave my ear nips and I had to sit in the corner. I didn’t get no crawdads that night.
So tonight I eat my food and I say my prayers. I wag for God, and the angel Michael and the angel Crichton. I wag for the the angel Genetics and the angel Saint Princess Louisiana. Then I turn three times and wiggle up between mama and papa where puppies belong. And I dream about the white place like heaven that we all came from, mama said, and that’s why we’s all remember. She says her mama and papa remembered, and her uncles and her sisters and brothers. They all remember the white place in theys dreams.
Mama says every puppy remembers, from the time they’re born. She says God and the people who came before, they remember us too. And they told us in our blood so we would always remember the white place. Mama says the white place is where Spongey maybe comes from too. That Spongey he eats any folks that get too many. Mama says the people used to be like ants, and Spongey eated them too. I ask why we still see ants, mama, and she says Spongey eats all the ants it can, but ants make so many ants Spongey can’t never eat them all.
Mama says the people were different. She says there was more people than stars in the sky, once. More people than ants in a hill. And when Spongey came he ate just the people brain and left all the good puppies and kitties alone. She says people made the white place. I ask mama how they write in our blood and she says it was a miracle. That they prayed to God like good folks and He sent down the angels. I ain’t never seen or smelled no angel but I know they got white clothes on. And their mouths is all blue or green and they’ve got bottles over their eyes. But I know they’re good because those dreams make me wag.
Papa gets mad about the dreams sometimes. He says that maybe God put Spongey down to punish bad people. And if the dinosaurs and the people got their chance to be good or wicked what chance do folks like puppies have. But then papa eats a chicken and wags again and mama says hush now, papa, God’s got a plan, and he wrote it in us. Papa says people wrote it, angels wrote it, maybe they got it wrong. Mama says I’m the bestest puppy that ever wagged, so no way nobody got it wrong, not folks or angels or God.
Some days I go and find the ants and Spongey and I put them in the ant hills. Mama says to put them in the bitey ants but leave the tickley ants alone. Mama says don’t feed the Spongey to the chickens. Papa says ain’t no chicken ever get the Spongey but mama doesn’t like it. Papa says chicken eat anything. Even Spongey. He says even puppies can eat Spongey. Mama got so mad she made Daddy sleep with the chickens, once, 'cuz he said that. She says, puppy, don’t eat the Spongey. Never let the Spongey inside you because he’s just waiting for the chance to eat you up from the insides too.
