A shrewdness of Apes

A Shrewdness of Apes

  A Short Story

  By Garry Grierson

  Copyright 2011 Garry Grierson

  I’m different. I’m not like the others. Their lives revolve round instinct. If they’re hungry, they eat. If there’s danger, they run. If there’s a squabble, they fight. Sometimes I feel sorry for them. They only have an awareness of the basic things, to eat, sleep, flee, and reproduce; and they do it without imagination, understanding, or curiosity. They can never stop to appreciate the simple joy of watching the sunrise. No thoughts beyond finding the next meal or safe place to sleep concern them.

  They’ve already eaten and drank today, and there’s no immediate danger, so they laze around, sleeping and grooming themselves. Doing the same things as they’ve always done, and they like it. Sometimes I envy them.

 

  Our last place was good; it was easy living there. We had water and food, and a safe place to sleep. The group thrived, until a lot of our young males took sick and died. There were other troops near by. They wanted the good place for their own, and through our sickness they became stronger. That’s why we were ousted from that place, more of them fighting less of us. So we left.

  We wandered for days, only stopping to eat and rest. The woods offered us shelter and food, but also unseen dangers. So we ran. The plains were vast and empty wastelands. They allowed us to see the approaching beasts, but offered no safe resting place. So we moved on. My feet are sore from the effort.

  We have settled in a good place. The steep slopes of the craggy gullies run out in all directions, like huge claw marks in the ground. The rocks are high and sharp, making it difficult for most beasts to approach. There are trees to sleep in, and caves to shelter from the rains. The clear stony ground below keeps the creatures of the woods at bay. The valley floor is thick with trees, pooling round the sheer rock faces, and creeping up the stony slopes. The settling place has good vantage points for spotting any passing danger, and the forest is full of fruit, roots and insects.

  This is a safe place. It would be good to think the troop figured this out, and selected this spot, but they didn’t. It was luck that brought us here, it is luck that stops us from being eaten by the sharp-teeth, or trampled by the long-noses.

  The troop is beginning to settle now, relaxing and playing. Only the lookouts are constantly on the move. They stand guard, stretching upright, their heads constantly darting from side to side, looking for any signs of danger. This is a new place and there is always the chance that a sharp-tooth may hunt the area, or a rogue long-nose may stray too close. I can see the long-nose on the next ridge, large and noisy. They stomp their huge feet, shaking the ground as they strip the trees with their noses, ripping the edges of the forests apart before moving on. A sharp tooth watched them from the thicket, looking for any opportunity to strike. It had been stalking a young long-nose that had wandered too far from the heard, but the mother became nervous and stood over her young. She stomped and trumpeted her warnings, turning her head back and forth, scything through the air with the two huge teeth that grew from her chin. The sharp tooth knew the mother was too big and too strong, so it fled. This is the way of things; there would be another time, another opportunity, and another meal.

  The main body of the troop sit in the centre of the outcrop, huddled together for warmth and protection, some are grooming, and others sleep. I sit alone, at the edge of the group. I make them nervous, they know I’m different, they can sense it. The dominant male walks round his territory, swinging his arms by his side, surveying his dominion. He keeps the others away from the females and guards his new children. He occasionally glances in my direction, flexing his large muscles, and curling his lip, bearing his teeth. He is the strongest. The weakest are pushed to the fringes of society. Anything different is shunned and left to perish. This un-favoured group currently includes a crippled old male, an orphaned child, a new female; who recently wandered in from another troop, and me. I kept my distance, looking down at the ground, never making eye contact. The dominant male was well fed on an abandoned carcass we found this morning. It was a fresh kill, the flesh still warm. He moves slowly with a full belly. My own stomach rumbled. I hadn’t eaten anything but berries and roots for days. I had other uses for the meat.

  The day was hot, and there was nothing to do but wait. My eyes stung and grew heavy with the heat, so I rested. I awoke to the whooping warnings of the lookouts. They jumped and thrashed about on their posts screaming out the approaching danger. There was something moving at the edge of the forest. The outcast child had strayed too far again; nobody was there to look out for it. A sharp-tooth ate the mother some time ago. The child looked thin and weak. It had found some of the meat I had laid out. It ate hungrily, but was too far from the relative safety of the group.

  A low growl came from the nearby bushes as a large sharp-tooth strode into the clearing. Its shoulder muscles moved rhythmically as it approached, rolling from side to side. The dark stripes on its golden hair flowed over its supple muscled body. This was a beast made for killing. The child hadn’t noticed the sharp-tooth approach, relishing the opportune meal. The scent of the meat brought the beast. The others whooped and jumped, making as much noise as possible, whilst staying away from the danger. This was my chance, my fingers closed round the small stack of stones. They were all sharp, and heavy enough to cause damage. I stood up on a high ledge and hurled the first volley at the sharp-tooth. It backed away, confused by the strange attack. I jumped down to the lower ledge and continued to throw more stones from another mound. The sharp-tooth was circling now, disorientated. It roared again, its teeth and claws slashing the air.

  The last pile of stones were slightly larger that the others. I didn’t need to throw these as far, but I was betting my life on the instinct of flight over fight. One mistake and I would simply become meat for the beast, but we were small morsels for this amount of effort, and the stones risked damage. Like all beasts it instinctively knew when the fight wasn’t worth the reward. I threw the largest stones, and the sharp-tooth drew back, and returned to the forest. I grabbed the child and ran back to the rocks, but not too far. I let the child go and it scurried up the rock-face to relative safety of the group. This was my chance. I looked for the dominant male. He stood on one of the highest rocks. He was looking at me, and I looked back, staring into his thoughtless eyes.

  The stare only lasted a few seconds. “Eeeeeh,” he screamed, waving his massive hands in the air. Leaping off the rock he screamed again, baring his sharp teeth. He ran towards me, full of noise and fury. This was fight.

  He was bigger and stronger, so he took the challenge. He had curled his own crude thoughts round the odds, and they weighed in his favour. At some level he knew the different was threatening, and had to be removed. He knew how to remove threats, with his strength and with his teeth. I ran back down the hill, towards a small clump of rocks. I knew he would take this as a weakness. I was right; he increased his speed, thumping the ground with his fists as he whooped with rage. Most fights are bluster, posturing and display; he would do this before deciding whether to attack. This gave me time.

  I reached behind the rocks and grabbed the branch I has stored there. He lurched towards me all teeth and muscle. I swung the club. It made a dull crunching sound as it struck his head. The momentum drove his limp body past me, hitting hard against the rocks. I raised the branch again and brought it down hard, covering myself in a fine mist of warm blood. He didn’t move.

  The sharp-teeth were still in the bushes somewhere I could hear them.

  “Ahhh, Ahhh, Eeeeeh,” I screamed. Dropping the blood soaked club as I ran for the safety of the rocks. I knew the blood would bring the sharp-tooth.

  It walke
d carefully out into the clearing, circling round the unmoving figure. It sniffed the air, circling in closer, and then lunged, the huge claws ripping into the lifeless body. A deep purring sound reverberating round the clearing as the sharp-tooth dragged the body into the forest. I returned up the rocks, my chest heaving, my heart beating fast. The blood felt hot and sticky, clinging to the thick hair covering my body. The others watched me nervously, averting their gaze when I looked at them, taking care not to look me in the eye. A young male approached slowly, baring his teeth. I picked up a sharp rock and threw it at him, striking his head. He ran away, squealing.

  I killed the dominant male. I am in control. The next litter of children will be mine; they will be like me. They will think. They will out-smart the beasts and appreciate the sunrise. I though it out. I planned it, and it worked. It’s a new age, because…

  I’m different.

  ###

  Thank you for reading A Shrewdness of Apes.

  About the author:

  Garry Grierson was the first of three children born to Jeanette and Tom.

  He came into this world on the ninth of October 1968, and is now quite old.

  After an unremarkable childhood growing up in a small mining village in Fife, Scotland, he mailed his first short-story entry to a competition aged twenty; receiving his very first form-rejection letter.

  From then on he has continued the dream of publishing that first Novel. Whenever real-life as a husband and applications developer doesn’t get in the way.

  Although he has had some success with short-stories the dream of publishing that elusive Novell still lingers on.

  Connect Me Online:

  Twitter: https://twitter.com/garryg68

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/people/Garry-Grierson/1486744595

  My writing blog: https://g2writing.blogspot.com/