...were simultaneously existing in a jungle somewhere on a shared, inhabited, gravity propelled rock amongst a galaxy of rocks inside one, gas fueled, undiscovered and neutrally toxic atmosphere.
“Heck of an intro you got there!” Shouted the lion whose roar echoed across the grassy valley—the raccoon was taken back, she paused momentarily, surprised by the sound of the lion, ‘is he talking to me? No way he’s talking to me’ she thought as she hurried to steer clear from the lions sight. “Look,” said the lion, “I see you over there in the tall grass, I could smell you 10 minutes ago, I’m not hungry, don’t trip! I just wanna talk.” He told her “come here or I’ll come there and, if you make me go over there, I’m going to kill you just to kill you and I won’t even eat you—they will.” He pointed to the flock of squawking vultures circling the sky above. That got her attention! “Really?? Just talk?” She shouted back, “I shouldn’t be running for my life right now?” “Nah, you’re good, c’mere,” waving her over with his paw, “I just like a good #story before my cat nap—where ya headed?”
The raccoon very methodically and lightly eased her way toward the lion, inspecting every blade of grass with her highly sensitive whiskers before finally sitting down next to him in a cold sweat. As she situated herself beside him, she nervously replied “s-s-school. I don’t have a lot of time to talk actually, or I-I’ll be late.” The Lion was surprised by her response, the king of the jungle just got stumped. “I’ve heard of pacts and packs, tribes, herds, colonies, nests, swarms, the flock above us, you name it—I’ve heard it! But never a school—what’s school?” She told him it’s the place they all go to learn. “All?” Adding to his confusion, he asked “why haven’t I heard about this school until now, is there other lions there? Certainly it isn’t safe if you’re amongst lions.”
“No, there isn’t any lions there, school is only for raccoons” and went on to explain how it used to be safe but it’s getting scarier by the day as more and more raccoons have been randomly killing each other. “Every day?” He asked. “This school thing lasts longer than today?” Through her muffled laughter, she explained how it’s a minimum of 12 years followed by continued education at multiple levels and, depending where you want to work, you could spend more than 25 years in school. “Work?! What?” They shared the same blank facial expression confirming their confusion, “you really don’t know, do you?”
”No, I really don’t.”
“Ok, well, I don’t have much time but...” he interrupted her again, “time?” “Yes, time, that’s another one for another day,” she began explaining.
School...
It’s a place where only we go, we’re the only specie to attend formal training of its kind—it’s a special training that’s taught across all of the plains and out of the same books. All schools are instructed and graded on the same curriculum—it’s identical. She told him how they start at a real young age, “barely old enough to leave the den.” She told him they all congregate in the same location at the same time, up to six days per week, where they’re all made to wear their fur the same style and length with the same cuts so no two hairs are different. Their tails are never permitted to touch the ground, their claws require the same amount of trimming each morning prior to schooling and they’re all issued the same literature. “We’re all directed to address the instructors by their last name only and we’re only allowed to speak when called on.”
“The raccoons who enforce the rules have beee...” he interrupted her again, “wait a minute!” He started laughing, “raccoons are the ones orchestrating all of this and you freely subject yourself to it?? Nobody has the authority to impose their will on their own kind—it’s unnatural. ‘Kill or be killed, law of the land, do unto others’ but no specie has the authority to govern, especially their own kind, you’re funny!”
It gets worse!
“I wish I was kidding,” she continued telling him about school and how it’s just the beginning and, depending on your academic achievements, you’re placed in another raccoons den under forced labor practices with the sole purpose of trading your physical labor for the fortune of your den owner who, in return, shares a fraction of their fortune with you. “Academic achievements?” “Yes,” she continued, “depending on all of your test scores collectively and your ability or inability to work with others throughout your 12+ years of schooling, you’re placed in dens with less or more physical exertion.” The Lion was fascinated with this concept invented by the raccoons, “how long are you forced to stay with your new den owner?”
“Most likely more than half of your life—about 40 years.” She told him how all of the raccoons have to work until they’re 62 years old, other wise they can’t eat food or even drink water, “every basic essential to live a normal, oxygen breathing life has been monopolized and marketed by the same den of raccoons for multiple generations.” He stopped her again, “why don’t you just slaughter them and leave their carcasses for the buzzards?” She told him they’d be tried and convicted by neighboring raccoons if they talked like that, “just the thought is illegal.” You don’t want to get caught thinking like that—it’s grounds for permanent enslavement inside a forced labor camp where we’re only allowed one hour of sunlight per day for the remainder of our existence.
“Well then,” he asked, “that fraction of pay you spoke of must only be a fraction in comparison to your den owners worth and, by all calculations, you’re actually financially independent, right?”
I wish!
She said in order to receive their fraction, they must first provide a percentage of it to several different entities, raccoons whom they’ve never met and, if they refuse, even their fraction will be taken away from them—they’ll receive nothing for their labor and will starve. Each entity is identified by a unique acronym who “has their claws in our pocket before we can even get our own claws in there.” She said by the time they’re finally paid, in exchange for their labor, “we’re lucky if it’s worth half of our time.” “That doesn’t make sense,” he said, “why would your entire colony agree to these unfair conditions?” She told him its not agreed upon, it’s an appointed rule that nobody questions, they just abide by it and its governing laws. Consequences for disobeying can result in another trial judged by another neighboring pack of raccoons. “That sounds like a sentence to me, raccoon—out here it’s just...”
Living.
“No sentence—all I do is live,” he said. “Do you know what I mean by that?” He said he mostly likes to rest during the day. Depending on the weather, he may or may not require shelter but “it’s easy to come by,” he added. “When I get hungry I feed myself—that’s when being the weaker existence has deadly consequences.” He said no one tells him where he can or can’t sleep, where or what he eats, he said he’s never been directed a single day of his #life since leaving the den. “Everyone just lives out here, why would you allow such a small percentage of raccoons to govern you?” “We didn’t,” she said, “they’ve been forcing their will on us since our existence and, over the centuries, by lying and distorting facts to push their ideologies, they’ve developed an immeasurable amount of power that utilizes militaries, rules, enslavement camps for non-rule abiders and, get this, fellow raccoons who enforce their agendas.”
“I knew you wouldn’t understand” he told her, “my toughest decision today was figuring out where I was going to take this nap.” He said if he’d fallen asleep sooner, he wouldn’t be so hungry right now but all of this talk about raccoons ruling over other raccoons worked up an appetite. “Alright, I guess that’s my cue to leave” the raccoon said, “negative,” he told her and grabbed ahold of her with one claw. “Hey!!! I thought you said you wouldn’t kill me?!?” She cried out. “I did! And I wasn’t going to... But now I’m hungry and, I’ll only say this once, any raccoon who’s stupid enough to obey the authority of another raccoon is probably stupid enough to sit next to a lion and believe they’re friends.” She’s noticeably trembling now in her own sweat. “Look, I won’t eat you right now, don’t trip.” He told her “your fascinating tale about a raccoon created facade complete with military personnel, exclusively agreed upon extortion and schooling agendas bought you some time but it doesn’t mean I’m not hungry and it doesn’t change the fact you’re still a raccoon.” He helped her to her feet and told her “you’re a good story teller and, because of that, I’ll give you a three second head start” releasing her from his claw:
Three... Two...
Click here for Monday.
