A Gallinipper at the Window
by Christian Horst
In the heat of a muggy summer day, a gallinipper beats itself against a window. Its meager attempts patter hopelessly against the barrier, with no awareness but instinct, and no drive but compulsion. Were it by some dark miracle to succeed, it would find not a stagnant pool wherein it might lay its eggs to fester, but only a brief sweet taste before a quick death, oblivious to the agony it would cause. Yet of this it would have no comprehension, for all it knows is the twitches of its nerves and the compulsive reactions to its nescient sensations.
What cosmic force could design such obscenity? Only the Blind Goddess Evolution, whose spasmic gesticulations wreak chaos across the world, from which chances to tumble indiscriminately both ecstasies and abominations. With one flop of her hand upon the earth, species die. And with a kick, thousands of tons of dirt pile into a mountain, and a lucky survivor gazes about in bewilderment at its new place on top of the world. Events like these continue for decades and epochs and eons until, in a forgettable moment, a gallinipper chances upon the compulsion to beat itself against a window.