The More Things Change
I had to laugh as I saw the drawing scrawled on the wood; it wasn’t a bad likeness, if you tilted your head just so.
It was roughly the right shape, and the proportions were almost correct; on the whole, I was rather impressed with the effort made, if not the final execution.
Of course the artist had got the colours wrong, but then that was hardly his or her fault; human eyes and brains aren’t really capable of correctly interpreting certain spectrums after all. And the constantly changing tints and shades of the materials out of which our uniforms and protective clothing are made doesn’t make it any easier on the poor creatures.
I down looked at the scrawled drawing again.
You know, there really wasn’t that much difference between it and the cave paintings of Lascaux.
16,000 years. And the human race thought they had progressed.
I had to laugh.
It was either that or cry.
I left the planet behind me and wondered how far they’d develop, how much closer they’d come in the next sixteen millennia.
They’d either be no further forward, or they’d be successfully reaching for the stars.
I realised with some disquiet that I wasn’t entirely certain which of the two depressed me more.
Nicolas Papaconstantinou
Heh… a step into a bit of classic Outer Limits sci-fi. Will those wacky humans never learn?
A fun little piece, sir!
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Nicolas Papaconstantinou
… And of course, we are reaching for the stars. Just, generally, as contestants on popstar or talent shows…
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