The Way Things Are
By Evan McBride
1: Aha! I’ve got you!
2: Are you certain?
1: Fairly certain. I’m a lion and you’re a gazelle. You’re stuck in that
hole. I’ve got you.
2: Oh my. What now?
1: Well, I suppose I’ve got to come down there and devour you.
2: How will you get out?
1: That’s not the issue here.
2: I’d certainly think it should be.
1: I’m sure I’ll find a way. I am a lion after all.
2: So?
1: The legendary king of beasts? I hardly think it should be my fate to rot
is some dank hole in the ground.
2: Well, you likely would if you were to come down here.
1: Maybe, but I am most dreadfully hungry.
2: I don’t think you’re being very wise.
1: Frankly, I’m not interested in what you think. I’m going to come and eat
you now.
2: Wait. Don’t you ever wonder if there’s some point behind this whole mess?
1: Um... a point?
2: Yes, like some reason we do what we do? Some underlying purpose that we
exist?
1: I don’t see how that matters.
2: Well, it matters quite a bit to me, seeing as I’m about to die in a
moment.
1: I don’t care. I just want to eat you.
2: But everything can’t just be chaos. We must be some part of of a greater
plan. There must be a meaning to it all. How can there not be?
1: Well, perhaps there is. I’m sure it has something to do with eating you,
anyway.
2: You seem to have a rather one track mind.
1: I refer to it as sensibility.
2: I certainly don’t relish the thought of being devoured by you, if you
don’t mind me saying so.
1: You don’t? I mean, you should be a little proud. To be devoured by a
noble lion is a privilege reserved for a spare few. Besides, it’s your
natural place in things.
2: I for one don’t see why it has to be my natural place in things.
1: Makes perfect sense to me. I’m a lion. You’re a gazelle. You may as well
be wearing a sign on your back that says ‘devour me’. Fierce carnivore and
docile herbivore. It couldn’t be any other way.
2: I do have these awfully pointy things on my head, you know.
1: Yes, but you don’t use them. You run away. That’s the way it always goes.
2: I can’t run. I’m in a bloody hole.
1: All the better.
2: You’re not being very sensitive, you know.
1: I’ll have time for that when my belly’s full.
2: I’ve thought it over. I know it isn’t typical, but I’m going to have to
gore you when you pounce down here.
1: That’s ridiculous. Simply doesn’t happen.
2: But I am going to.
1: You know, it’s creatures like you with no respect for traditional values
that make the Savannah such a dreadful place to live.
2: I personally think it would be perfectly grand if we all just got along.
1: This from a grass-eater. What do you want me to eat?
2: Not me. I know that much.
1: Now you’re not being very sensitive.
2: You must admit that I’m not in a pleasant position. I am trapped in a
hole, you know.
1: Well, what if I were to help you out?
2: What?
1: Well, if you’re going to be so damned stubborn about the impaling and
all, I could help you out of the hole and we could do this proper. You run,
I chase. A test of speed and agility.
2: But I’d almost certainly win.
1: True, but it would be more interesting than leaping into a hole and being
gored by some punk antelope with no respect for tradition.
2: All right then.
1: You leap as high as you can, and I’ll grab you.
2: How do I know you won’t devour me when I do?
1: You only have my word. But the way I see it either you stay own there, I
leap down and get gored, you starve to death and we both die, or you come up
here and only one of us dies.
2: I suppose that does make sense. Here I come!
1: Careful, those things are awfully sharp! All right, there you go. Now
aren’t you happy we worked together? You get your chance at life and
freedom, and I get my proper old fashioned hunt. The power of cooperation.
Lion and gazelle, working together.
2: But you’re still going to try and eat me, right?
1: Life’s not a fairy tale, my friend.
2: You know, I really wish we’d met under other circumstances.
1: Yep. But this is the real world. I suggest you get running.
