/lit/ - Literature

Reposted from my blog, I would just post a link but for some reason the filter thinks I'm posting spam now when I do. I worry that I come off as a bit too tryhard or wanky, but I really enjoyed writing this one.

Why did he do it?

His whole energy lent to it, that tetrapod to whom all our insecurities and petty quarrels can be traced. Not to their foundation, but a crucial – to us, though in the grander scheme possibly quite insignificant – point of reference. Nothing so simple as a fish-lizard, a hero and our doom. If life is comedic, or tragic, respectively. I’m still not sure, but I’ve at least narrowed it down that far. Modern life microcosmically, and grander life in all it’s scope as well. Life itself possibly a mere peculiarity or detour in the great unending motion that all forces serve, all things submit to.
Through him fate made itself felt. Always moving, no one can say where except maybe the initiator, a pinball game of a complexity unimaginable to any creation of itself yet made manifest. One day maybe our goal in turn, like Tiktaalik’s before us, will be recognised as to bring that forth. Or at least, to drag the line along a little. Only unknowing agents of the all unifying principle, the reliably unreliable Logos.
He did it because he was born to do it, because every event he met upon his way there pushed him further to it. His body was built for it, the product of the very same process which he was an avatar of. As am I, as are you. What specific series of events led him to the beach now long lost, where he slipped free of the primordial deeps and into the loving embrace of the sun, we will likely never know. Not to worry, to what end would you seek such knowledge anyway? Trivia. The gravitas of the day the deed was done is what should hold your attention. That brief spike of sudden momentousness, dead aeons on either side.