. . . In That Quiet Earth

Motion in Motion

~ 1 ~

The ameba, through propulsion, ejected itself across a miniscule distance that was unimportant to mankind, but not ineffectual.  With this minute movement, a tremor was caused in the protoplasm of micro-matter.  Sometime later, these waves of motion, which had increased in magnitude and disrupted the delicateness of the phytoplankton, caused a small twitch.  Within less than a second the phytoplankton was consumed by its predator, the zooplankton.  This organism, invisible to the naked eye, floated upon the cool waters of the Pacific; there was no moon that night, but a vast luminescence was still being radiated, from the sea, from the zooplankton. 

~ 2 ~

The whale shark swung its mighty tale and shot through the icy waters, vacuuming a path through the glowing organism.  Excess waters were expunged causing small currents and eddies, which spread in uneven rises and falls, sinking into the ocean and causing the giant squid to revolve slightly so that one eye was looking into the ocean depths and the other was spying at the surface and the outside world it had never and would never know.  Unbeknownst to the squid, its torpedo-shaped head had become elevated and it quickly rose to the surface like a submarine, its eye suspiciously watching.  The arrow-shaped end knocked a bottle, sending it spinning off in another direction, then the head disappeared into the opaque and dangerous depths, never to return. 

~ 3 ~

The green Perrier bottle bobbed like an old man listening to soft jazz, its passenger a yellowing piece of paper with a beautiful script written upon it; these words were beginning to fade because of the sun, but they would be read by at least one person, a boy, before becoming illegible. 

~ 4 ~

The San Francisco Bay was a spaghetti junction of activity, as many forms of boat, ship and yacht went in and out through the Golden Gate, but there was one vessel which was unlike any within the bay, actually unlike any other in the world, as it washed up on a beach of dark sand. 

~ 5 ~

Jim Beam was pissed at his parents and would be pissed at them for a long time.  He was walking along the beach and there was a cold wind blowing from the sea on to the beach and on into the state.  He was cold, but he didn’t care.  Every once in a while he would pick up a stone; if it was flat and round he would skim it across the wrinkled waves; if it was any other shape he would toss it into the air and kick it into the water.  As he absentmindedly made up insults, one column for his mom and one for his dad, his hand snatched up a scratched and chipped emerald bottle.  Within was a note.  Jim Beam stopped, studied the bottle for a second and then tried to rip off the cap and failed miserably.  His only solution was to resort to violence, whereupon he smashed the neck of the bottle on some nearby rocks and sprinkled the soft sand with myriad speckles of glinting glass.  Carefully, he fished out the dry, ochre paper and managed not to cut himself.  The paper was as dry as the day it was inserted into the bottle by a hairy man many many miles away, but only brittle around the borders.  Since there were only fifteen words, the letter was still readable.  Thankfully, Jim Beam could read.

Stranded on a desert island.

Have run out of toilet paper.

Please send supply.  Quickly!

Jim Beam made a sound somewhere along the lines of “flooppppshooot,” and tossed the bottle further up the beach, dropping the note by his side.

~ 6 ~

As the shape of the glass slammed into the small dune, its mini tremors created a petit avalanche on each hill of sand in front of the other, creating an astonishing sight of movement, spreading out in a fan shape.  But as this was all micro scale, no large animal could have viewed this totally random event.  Like a domino effect, the movement of sand rolled up to the road and dumped a good portion of sand on a dung beetle that had been ecstatic at having found a mother lode of dung.  In a doglike manner, the beetle shook off all the sand and set about pushing the large ball of dung across the road in a very strange, but total dung-beetle-like manner:  his hind legs worked like arms, while his front legs worked like legs and, facing backwards and almost upside-down, the beetle made it on to the asphalt and was very close to the center divide line when the front wheel of a Honda Civic crushed the beetle to a pancake, while the ball of dung rolled on to the opposite side of the road.  The dung was soon flattened but, unlike the deceased beetle, was picked up by another Honda Civic.  The dung got a free ride, turning its back on San Francisco, finding its final resting at San José State University.  Shortly after it was washed off the tire by the car’s owner and disappeared down the drain. 

~ 7 ~

Mr. Firestone was just sitting around, full of air and aching to get moving, especially since it had gotten rid of that crap it had been carrying.  But no matter how much it was raring to go, its master would not take it.  Thirty-one hours later, the Honda Civic started moving, Mr. Firestone spurred into action with his brother, while his cousins behind merely rolled along for the ride. 

Mr. Firestone stopped moving and stood facing Pier 39.  A few second later the tire burst like a soggy balloon, sending a handful of pebbles down the embankment, next to the pier, into the cold ocean.  Sound waves swam through the sea like a school of fish, triggering the senses of a plethora of sea life, but only the little gray seal at the other end of the pier reacted, swimming furiously towards the origin of these emanations and before the animal could stop itself, half the animal’s body shot out of the water, up the embankment, facing a very saggy, old-looking Mr. Firestone.   Discovering nothing of interest, the gray seal expelled a lungful of air and disappeared back in the water.  The strong puff of air picked up a tuft of lint, flat and round; it began spinning like a toy flying saucer.

~ 8 ~

Much like the avalanches of the dunes, this was missed by the entire world, just another random event in the colossus of time, except for an ant who had been wrestling with a large crumb from a hollowed out bread-bowl which had contained a very good San Francisco Clam Chowder.  The ant dropped the crumb and began chasing the lint.  With an ambition equal to an Olympic runner, the ant pursued the spinning mass of hair, dust and stuff.  After many miles the wind finally gave out and the conglomeration settled onto the surface of the water right next to the embankment, thirty inches from its takeoff point.  Here the ant stopped, exhausted and out of breath.  Upon discovering the composition of the thing he had been chasing for quite some time, crestfallen, he let out an inaudible wail and collapsed upon the pebbles of the embankment. 

~ 9 ~

This minute wail caused a disturbance in the air, vibrating the molecules, causing an invisible chain reaction of movement.  On the receiving end of this everyday occurrence was the corner of the San Francisco Chronicle, only the corner; the rest of the paper had been ripped away when its owner had dropped it, accidentally stepping on this corner, proceeding to tear off the angle of paper without further thought.  The force of the wail flipped the corner, but it remained steadfast.  Nevertheless, with this seemingly unimportant movement, the light of the sun had caught it, causing a blade of yellowy white to cut across the sky like a light saber.  The blade was thinner than a penlight and having the sun out and shining, was missed by all.

~ 10 ~

A beautiful, flittering butterfly was innocently flying around, its wings composed of a miasma of cerulean blues and emerald greens; then the blade of light passed seemingly through its body, immediately catching its attention.  Without further ado, the butterfly dove and settled delicately upon the edge of the paper, bouncing up and down as on the end of a flexible piece of metal that does not bend or break, but mysteriously continues to bounce its passenger. 

~ 11 ~

Far out at sea, a cargo ship was getting into its lengthy trip to Tokyo.  On the roof of the control room of the ship, the white rectangular block continued to spin round, appearing on a journey of never-ending dizziness.  Each time the flat face faced the coast, a glint of reflected light was shot towards the butterfly.  Even with the bouncing, the insect was able to pick out this signal.  When the seesaw action sent him heavenwards, the butterfly kicked off, opened his wings and took flight, heading for the ship on the horizon.

Some time later, the butterfly was comfortably standing in front of the radar, gazing out in the direction the ship was headed, at a plane of blue:  light on top, dark on the bottom.  The insect did not know where it was headed, it did not know if it would make it alive to the final destination.  But if it did, life would begin anew for the butterfly.

Notes on “Motion in Motion”

Back when I was a teenager there was a game a good friend of mine, Ryan, and I used to play.  As we were walking the streets of Fuengirola, back in good old southern Spain, to occupy our time and minds we’d come up with a starting event of say kicking a ball into the street, and then imagine the knock-on, ricocheting, domino-like effect that would take place, forming a long chain of actions and reactions.  “Motion in Motion” is me putting that game into story form.