Much of the original formatting was lost, so I apologize for any confusion. Ideally the whole thing would be written in two different fonts, but I can't figure out how to do that in Livejournal. If it seems something should be formatted differently, assume that it had been!
Only human. That phrase forgives far too much of a species that never stops killing itself over petty disagreements, never stops destroying its own planet for the sake of convenience.
A pair of legs emerge from a mass of blankets, and gingerly lower to the floor. A foot moves in front of another foot.
Every step man takes, he crushes others. What a selfish creature.
An optic nerve perceives, directly across from it, two black dots centered in two white spheres enveloped in wrinkled skin, flesh and bone. Behind the bone, some intertwined blobs tell each other with electrical impulses that this is an illusion created by a pane of glass set in front of a pane of metal. Just the reflection of an all-too-familiar silver-haired man.
Why am I he? Why must I be a man who so closely resembles those other men who massacred for gold, God, and glory? As other students listened enraptured to those parts of history, I sat disgusted. I saw what they did not see, that men made the same mistakes over and over across centuries, that his eagerness for war and profit was not a sign of righteousness but a sign of corruption. That the only time a man is innocent is when he is born...
White cloth billows then settles across two shoulders. A hand squeezes a metal clip and releases it. From a pocket now hangs a card reading
Dr. Allen Zarkin, M.D.
Obstetrics & Gynecology
Beth Israel Hospital
They may start out as blank slates, but eventually their birth means a little less is left for Earth. I used to see them as pristine hope, but now I know how quickly they corrupt and decay.
A hand opens a schedule book with the image of the Earth on its cover. Under "September 7th, 1999," black ink bleeding into the white paper reads
Ceasarian section, Liana Getz
Ironic how I’ve ended up bringing little bundles of destruction into the world. People really shouldn’t bother making them anymore. Stupid pompous fools, thinking that their baby might save the world, when millions before couldn’t.
A man approaches the operating theatre, his coat fluttering to his aggressive strides. He jerks open the door.
Women have children too easily now. Pain used to keep population growth in check, but now we need to resort to limits outside the physical. I commend whoever signed approval of the One Child policy in China. Truly, a stroke of genius. If the United States government employed based on intelligence, they could save the world with pens.
He picks up a scalpel.
If I had found the proper job, I could sign something like that for the United States. Surely someone intelligent enough to be a doctor would qualify to keep the population down. But I don’t work with a pen.
A new Homo sapiens emerges from its amniotic sack, uttering its first wail.
Yet I can still sign something. Yes, I’ll sign.
The scalpel applies gentle pressure below a line of stitches. It carves diagonally upward to the right, then downward to the right, and makes a straight horizontal line connecting the two diagonals. Then another horizontal, a diagonal down to the left, and a horizontal to the right. Blood wells up in a distinct shape: AZ. A pair of bright, young eyes peer over a masked mouth and nose in questioning disbelief at the wrinkled face of the person wielding the scalpel.
“Yes?” he responds, and his assistants fall into a befuddled silence.