ON SCREENING MOTHS
As I sat up writing late one night, smoking a joint, thinking of drinking gin and tonic, I found myself in the very story I was writing: a screenplay, in which an army of moths take control of a valuable energy source…
Ever since I started communing with the animals using the Babel fish, I’d been busy as a writer, with different groups asking me to tell their stories. They were perfectly capable of telling their own through universal translation devices, now ubiquitous among humans, but shirked by animals who feel they should control their thoughts.
While humans had spent millennia on countless ventures in self-improvement, they’d eventually concluded that the one thing humanity all suffered from was loneliness. And so universal translation was invented: the Tower of Babel which some of their religions forbade.
Meanwhile the animals had spent their entire evolution taking care of their basic needs: food, warmth and shelter. With the essentials squared away, they spent millions of years evolving to be able to communicate telepathically. It was genius on a planetary scale.
So now some of the animals have hired me as a freelance. I have no more idea why, than a dog might know how to drive a car if he caught up with it. All I knew before I took this first commission, is that the moths plan to take control of human power sources.
I let one of the more persistent visitors in through the window, and switched on the Babel fish, so that I could learn more of this plan. At first, the moth told me about an existential crisis he was going through. It didn’t take long to realise where the line of enquiry was going, so I pointed out that I wasn’t a psychiatrist. He only commented that my light had been on, in a way which suggested that we already knew the ending.
But he did point out that my light had indeed been on. By now my window had been open for a minute, and his squadron of moth men were already flying towards me. I took a swig of my gin and tonic, and one shouted “Gordon’s alive!”
Their plan is to take over other laptops: The lights of writers, shining from the windows in the night.
© Steve Laker, 2018