The Dinosaurs

Alfredo Fernandez

When I woke up, the dinosaurs were still there.  Though some people tell me that previously they had been fireflies that — feeling so proud of their origins — traveled in time back to the beginning of the life, I don’t believe it.  From what little I learned from Darwin, a nocturnal butterfly cannot be transmuted into a Plesiosaur.

The difficult circumstance of always being too close to these treacherous Jurassic residents makes me vulnerable.  The fact is, I’m no David.  And even if for a moment I did have the daring of young David, where would I ever get the sling or know how to use it without these anachronistic Goliaths devouring me beforehand?

Like most everyone around me, I’m waiting for the biological solution to this evolutionary disjuncture.  Something like a repeat of that meteorite that initiated this era millions of years ago after impacting the earth.

Though there are now many people who are tired of waiting for a fortuitous star to one fine day bring an end to such inopportune reptiles, only a few are betting everything on hurling “a small stone” (a blog) at what here is too small a target: the Internet.

As could be expected of these decrepit residents of the planet, the dinosaurs are now regurgitating their bile on these “ungrateful Davids” who, according to them, instead of using their “slings and arrows” to destroy their own surroundings, should not only perpetuate it but rather should also kiss the ground (destroyed by the enormous weight) on which the dinosaurs have stepped.

Whether it comes as a consequence of biology or the effectiveness of those “slings and arrows,” I pray to God that my problem of dreaming about dinosaurs (even when I’m awake) will soon be over for once and for all.  I pray for this so that the up-till-now unlikely dream of being myself is also made a reality.