IN ALL OF EXISTENCE that exists alongside time, there are always turning points. These evolve into established norms. Evolution dictates what eats what, extinction events determine what gets to move on. Societies come to conclusions on what reality should be. This becomes precedent.
“The one who took the napkin first determined all of these things! …
In a Society like this table, a state of equilibrium,
once one makes the first move, everyone must follow!”
—Funny Valentine
* * *
Josephat joked amongst his fellow tribesmen. They were no more than a handful of tents and a fire, nomads in the desert of the middle east. They were celebrating from the bounties of their hunt, a lucky kill on a wild ram that had unfortunately been in the wrong place and the wrong time. They laughed amongst each other, telling exaggerations and tall tales while their wives washed their weapons and the children danced around the roaring flame.
It was a good night for Josephat. Though he was not the one who killed the animal, he was part of the plan to lure it out into the awaiting spears of his allies. The sense of accomplishment warranted his high spirits. His wife came out of the tent and massaged his back, tradition for the tribe for at least two generations. His life was good.
Then a rumbling shook the ground. The fire was disturbed and the tribe looked around. The children screamed and the men comforted their wives. What was going on? The rumbling of the ground seemed to be getting stronger. Something was coming.
The source? Chariots. Bronze skinned men donning linen skirts and elaborate jewelry were heading towards the small light source. They were to see if it were an enemy but as they approached the seemingly distant fire, they were baffled as to why it became much closer. They halted their horses to realize that the fire actually belonged to a camp, no bigger than a children’s game, accompanied by tiny inhabitants. The scouts were in shock, as nothing such as the sight before them had ever been encountered before, in the entire history of their great nation.
The giants were looking down on Josephat’s campsite, speaking in tongues of which he knew not. Everyone looked up in fear of the impossibly large men. Who were they? Were they gods? Beings of a holy place, an Elysium? They couldn’t know, the fear of the unknown was too much for the miniscule peoples.
Enemy or not, the commanding officer made the decision to bag them and take them back to their pharoah. He cared not for a reward, but it was his duty to provide his leader with this new information. The chariot scouts took every man, woman, and child and carefully stored them in their satchels. They took off immediately to their home to present their findings.
After being presented with the scout’s find, the leaders discussed what use they may serve. They were too small to be slaves, or at least anything more than personal attendees. Their culture was nothing to them, an idiotic fallacy on a world they couldn’t possibly understand such as they had. Food. Sustenance. That was the fate of Josephat’s tribe. After many torturous tests of strength, durability, taste, usefulness, it was concluded that the smaller species best use was to be that of a delicacy for nobles of the land. They were forced to breed with each other, orders were given to bring anymore of their kind to the pharaoh's farmers for a hefty sum of gold. Josephat and his kind had been reduced to livestock based on the decisions of what were essentially gods.
When two cultures collide there will be an event. This was fated. A decision was made. Precedent.
* * *
“History is the fiction we invent to persuade ourselves
that events are knowable and that life has order and direction.
That's why events are always reinterpreted when values change.
We need new versions of history to allow for our current prejudices.”
— Bill Waterson
* * *
The lush jungle and damp surfaces proved to be a challenge for Anacaona. This didn’t necessarily mean impossible, but to catch up to his quarry it still took a toll on his ability. He was chasing a wild boar to bring back to his tribe, armed with only a bone tipped spear. It was tradition for a member of his tribe to bring in a kill once they came of age.
Luckily for him he was fit and agile enough to traverse the jungle with more grace than the swine and he managed to pincer it between a large tree and himself. Flanking to it’s leff, he grabbed onto a nearby tree branch, swung around and with all his forceicked the boar into the tree. While it was dazed he jabbed the speartip into its throat and twisted it, to ensure the death of his prey.
Anacoana sat down to breathe a bit. He estimated that he was now about a quarter day walk from the tribe and it being the middle of the day, he gave himself a break. He would still be able to make it back to his tribe in time for the feast and celebration. He laid his back against the tree, the moss providing a comforting support.
The breeze that passed through the under-canopy only emphasized the sound of nature around him. Monkeys in the distance screeching, the various tropical birds cawing, the loud thunderous rhythmic quakes, the distant waterfalls crashing down the varied elevations of the land. Anacoana tuned his ears and got up, scaling the tree looking from the higher elevation of the canopy. As an experienced forest-dweller, he realized one of those sounds was not familiar to him. It couldn’t be what he thought it was. He made his way along the canopy branches, with the agility of a spider monkey. He broke through to a spot where the trees had fallen over in the disturbances path.
She was beautiful. Her darker brown skin was highlighted by the many colors that were painted over it. She wore a feather on her head and was adorned by what appeared to be the spotted brown hide of an animal that he had never seen before. She was carrying a basket with various berries and grasses, looking around frantically. The girl stopped in her tracks and squatted down. She began to whisper to herself, though to Anacoana it sounded like a loud wind. Then she began to cry, tears large enough to disturb the dirt floor beneath.
Giant or not, the girl was lost. Anacoana pondered for only a split second before the disciplines of his 18 years kicked in. The jungle was a dangerous place, to help someone lost and in need was his duty as a member of the forest. Once again he used the treetops to his advantage in making his way the some hundred yards to her. Upon reaching his destination, he yelled at the girl for her attention.
It took some time but after a while the girl revealed her name and they started to bond. Anacoana had her take him and his hunt back to his village where she became a marvel for the rest of the tribe. After telling his elders about her predicament, the elders realized that beyond mountain range there was an entire people like her, an entire new community to interact with.
First contact between the southern and northern people of the continent had been established. This meeting of goodwill sparked the beginning of relations between the people and they began to share their lifestyles. The tiny southerners' gold and iron tools were modernized and understood by their northern giants and the northerners taught their miniscule counterparts farming and herding methods.
Coexistence between two early civilizations. Acceptance and cooperation, a path opened that set the precedent for life between these two peoples. Harmony was and always was the case for the ages to come.
* * *
“The surest sign that intelligent life exists elsewhere in the universe
is that it has never tried to contact us.”
— Bill Watterson
* * *
A ship makes its way through crashing waves, land visible in the distance. An explorer leads his ships of three into a new world, along with his crew and cargo. He sends for one of his men to receive him a tiny from the lower decks. The crew member obliges.
The man returns to his captain with a tiny in his hand. The captain extends his hand and the tiny hops on. It’s the captain’s first mate. They head into the captain’s quarters and prepare a plan to land. Before anything has been finalized another crew member knocks at the door. Once addressed, he states that there is a city of sorts on the coast line. This island is inhibited.
Change of plans were made as they sought a port to land. They found one that connected to a market of sorts. Upon docking it was decided that they would walk around the market to see what was available. The stares from the natives bothered them none.
They came across the sweet aroma of a food stall and since it had been a while before the crew enjoyed a hot meal they decided to make a stop. They encountered the hearty smell of a roasted animal that was served with a flatbread of sorts as well as an assortment of vegetables and sauces. The larger counterparts shared with their tiny comrades that were riding on their bodies, both enjoying the food they had taken. The captain inquires the vendor about the animal they have just eaten, for they were not of that land and have never had an animal that tasted as such. For a small fee of gold, the salesman brings them around back to where the food is kept.
Horror. Fear. Disgust. No words can describe how the explorers are feeling. They laid their eyes upon the cages full of tiny humans, split skewers driven through a batch roasting over an open fire, blood dripping from some that were hanging by their feet with their necks split open. In the corner was a clay furnace where screaming female tinies were attempting escape only to step onto hot coals that forced them to hop back onto the wooden base with burned feet.
The vendor seemed proud and pointed towards the tinies on the crewmates soldiers, holding up a bag of gold, making motions of a potential trade. The captain did the only reasonable thing he could think of and punched the vendor in the face, knocking him out cold. He directed his men to grab the tiny people and put the ones dying out of their misery. They made their way out of the bazaar and back to their ships, avoiding looking at the other food vendors to the best of their abilities.
Monsters had inhabited this land. A culture clash had gone in the wrong possible way. The captain swore that he would be back. This was wrong. He consulted his crew who all threw their support behind him. He would be back with guns and ships, he could not allow this to go on no matter if he was fighting the world. A change was coming, history itself being forced to accept which precedent would reign supreme. Two men on opposite sides of the table have grabbed the opposite napkin. Who wins?
* * *
The world is simply too small for this to have been avoided. History will clash, this truly is the providence of the world.
“When a human meets another human, it is due to ‘gravity’!
It happens because it was fated to be that way!”
— Enrico Pucci