Ape on a Rock

An ape rests on a rock, adrift in a boundless sea. The creature does not know how it got to be on this rock, only that one day he opens the two spheres he decides to call eyes and it is there and so is he. Besides, questions like “why” did not occur to him. Not yet. All the ape cares about is “who,” that who being himself.

The ape is mediocre by universal standards: two feet, two hands, two dangling bits near his legs he finds immeasurable joy in fumbling with. He has a large head and a thick skull that hides squishy insides. He is hairy and smelly and a bit slow, but not wholly without charm. What he lacks in acumen he makes up for in pluck. While it could not be said that the ape is the fastest, strongest, nor most cunning animal, he manages to scrape by with flashes of ingenuity, imagination, and bravery that comes in the form of trying foolhardy feats again and again, without terrible concern for his wellbeing. Of course, having opposable thumbs helps.

At first, the ape simply wanders in search of fuel to help him wander farther. He is at the mercy of the rock and its many mood swings. The few other creatures that share this space do not look too kindly upon his bipedal form, seeing him as a nuisance at best, and food at worst.

The ape does not like to venture too close to the rock’s edge, for the blue expanse beyond it is so large and makes him feel so small. Instead, he focuses on the ground beneath his feet and eventually finds that the rock holds everything he needs. Food for his belly. Water to quench his thirst. Branches and stone to build a home.

The rock gives freely. The ape takes gratefully. At first.

The ape finds childlike joy in experimenting with new things. He picks up two sticks, swings them around, uses them to tentatively (and sometimes forcefully) poke things, then eventually, after exploring many other applications for what primarily ends up as butt scratchers, he rubs them together and discovers fire. As the embers glow, warming the ape’s skin and bathing him in a mosaic of light and shadow, something sparks deep within him. It is a wish to burn bigger and brighter, a hunger that lasts long after the flame turns the sticks that fed it to ash.

In that pile of dust, the age of invention begins. The ape learns to carve tools from the rock to do what his body cannot — break into hard-to-reach places where sustenance lies, make clothing and structures to counter the forces of nature, and hunt the animals he once fled. He molds the rock to fit his needs. And that need, slowly, imperceptibly, becomes desire.

The ape finds that when he succeeds, he is pleased. When he finds something he likes, he craves more of it. Life, he realizes, is made for much more than surviving. So, the ape resolves to build a home for himself from the rock, using excessive confidence and minimal forethought as his primary tools. And the creature is nothing if not efficient in achieving his goals.

Insured by his own self-assurance, he labels him steward of the rock, etching the title into the stone for legality’s sake. It has cared for him, and in turn, he will care for it. He wrangles animals to his farms and nurtures them until he has use of them. He transforms the ground around him into fields of food to sustain him. A symbiotic relationship, the ape might call it, if he had thought to think of calling it anything at all.

He settles into his own permanence and, eventually, a wandering body becomes a wandering mind. In the boundless void of his brain, the ape finds many good stories, for he has created so many words and figures he might as well do something with them. He uses his voice to thank the rock for its kindness. He praises the forests and fields, the air and the earth. He idolizes and mythologizes, spinning stories out of the wind, bringing the seeds of his reality to life.

Of all the tales he loves to tell, he sings the one of his own greatness the most. For he has finally come to understand what he has only suspected for a long time: that he is a great being, for only great beings could create such order from chaos and shape the rock in accordance with their vision, and some even greater, more intelligent being has placed him here to rule.

Like many of the galaxy’s more middling beings, the ape is easily convinced of his magnificence, and as no other animals confirm nor deny such beliefs, and the rock does not say, either way, the ape takes silence for consent.

The fire of his hearth grows heartily, as does the bulge of his belly. He has manipulated the streams to bring water directly to his home, which swells and rises like a prickly lump on the rock’s once verdant form. He comes to believe that there can never be such a thing as too much of a good thing. And he reasons, if his creator created such potential, it would be a waste not to realize it. He believes he is capable of so much more, so that is what he begins to take.

He consumes forests instead of trees; prioritizes gratification and speed. When he finds himself moving too slowly for his liking, he builds machines to travel faster, sputtering things fed from a great power hiding deep within the rock he has neither the desire nor the attention span to fully understand. He pokes and prods and carries the spoils away and does not look back at the damage such fiddling creates.

It does not take long for the ape to forget what it is like to feel small. The more the ape consumes, the more he is bewitched by the need to cast a bigger shadow, one so grand it will bathe the entire rock in his glory. And like most of his desires, the ape makes it so. So what if the flowers and trees he once worshipped wither at his whims? What of the stone he once prayed upon? They are only resources, after all. He has reshaped them for the better, and to change in service of such a brilliant, wise, powerful, and incredibly self-aware master is the greatest fate a thing could hope for.

From his perch, he thrives, sitting and staring at the glow of his own greatness. When problems arise, and they do, quite frequently and conspicuously always seeming to trail after the birth of the ape’s latest and greatest brainchild, he revels in the chance to illustrate his aptitude, again and again. He finds immeasurable joy in inventing new solutions that will one day require his solving.

As the ape settles in for his triumphant reign, he does not notice as the rock begins to crumble away. He has been too busy fanning his fire, making it shine ever brighter. He does not see that what is not already dead is dying. He barely notices when the embers drift in the whipping winds and his crowning achievement catches flame.

The sight of his home burning away causes contradictory feelings for the ape. This is, of course, what he wanted, was it not? For his power to overshadow the rock. But now, having to flee in terror from his accomplishments, he wonders if perhaps he got a little too carried away. He hadn’t thought of the negative impact this might have on him until it was too late.

The air stings his lungs, and his throat remembers what it is like to ache once more. It is not a sensation he missed. He is hungry and exhausted, but he finds nothing to sate his hunger. The fires, still raging, burn away all of his machines and tools, and he is left not so much humbled as he is bewildered by the current state of things.

He is just an ape clinging to a crumbling mound of dirt, adrift in an angry sea. He does not know what has happened, only that one day he looks around and the rock that was his home has forsaken him. He cannot escape his reflection in its churning waves, and he resents the small, puny creature staring back at him.

Though a learned creature by earthly standards, bolstered by the inadvertent elimination of any competition, the ape is admittedly, quite daft — though he would never admit it to himself.

All that remains is a tiny sliver of rock to hold the ape up, and the tiny flame inside him, holding on for dear life, begins to rage. How can the rock do this to him, he who made it what it is today? He shakes his fists and stomps his feet, lamenting the life the rock’s negligence has ruined. He yells at the ground beneath him, which even now, makes no formal protest.

The ape screams until his voice vanishes, and in the silence, he hears a terrifying nothingness. Only the angry churn of the water and the piercing howl of the wind. He looks around him and finds himself alone. No one, nothing can help him now. With no other course of action, he slams his shivering feet against the rock once more, and the ground falls to pieces under his weight. He slips over the edge, tries to find a grip as the earth crumbles to ash in his hands. His screaming turns to weeping, but the ape’s tears drown in the frothing waves.

And then, with one last slip of the fingers, and one last curse at the world for wronging him, so does the ape.