Betterment of humanity entry

A bored mind. An empty mind. Some free time put to no use. But this is the moment. Ordained fate? A nudge from above? The divine guiding hand? An accident of the truest kind? Curiosity?

In a time before dates he sat, the hunt is over. He sits apart from the others for just a little while. That itch, niggling away, burning in his mind.

Burning. He’d seen the white flash. Stealing down from the great high up, falling from the thunder. He’d heard the flash stab down, the rendering of solid wood, the crackling and spitting after. He’d smelt the pine tree, resin boiling, popping flashing bright. He’d seen the all consuming light, the colours so bold they stayed in the eyes even after they were shut. And he’d felt the warmth. Delicious. Soft. He wanted it.

But then it was gone. The great pine a skeleton of black. Just one or two breaths of red and orange. They’d tried to carry it with them. But the heat just wouldn’t stay; the wind always scared it away.

That itch was back. In the front of his mind; waiting patiently for the moment to happen. When they walked the cliff-side last, what had he seen? Rocks had been loose, shaken in the rains. Little pebbles jumped free when we shuffled by. Yes. But what had he seen. He’d seen a little bright stone. Brighter than the yellow in the great flash. He’d picked it up. He’d found a few of them loose in the scree. He had picked them all up.

Nearly there, but what had he seen? The itch was insatiable; the word was on the tip of his tongue. He could feel it. What was it? What had he seen that day?

His brother. His brother too had found some bright stones. That overhang. It had looked like an Auroch’s head. They’d taken turns at throwing the bright stones at the rocky lump. His brother was winning, he’d hit it most. He had had to concentrate- a good shot was needed. The bright stone was flung hard and fast.

That was when he’d seen it. The dazzling rock had struck a dark patch, right above the Auroch’s nose. For the blink of an eye- the smallest of great flashes! His brother hadn’t seen it. It was time to go. But before departing he’d picked up a bit of the dark slippery stone and scooped up more of the sunny stones.

He hadn’t seen any more since. But he had found more of the dark grey stone in among the cliff debris. And now he was sitting here. A great flash- a brilliance of colour and warmth and beauty. Two rocks- a little spark brighter than the sun itself. He struck them together. Nothing. He felt stupid.

But that itch, that annoying tickle behind his brows, it was gone. This was the right path. So what was wrong. They felt wrong in his hands. He hefted them, aiming for comfort. The grey was slick, covered in watery ripples. It was large and fit his hand like nothing else did. The little bit of bright yellow was small and knobbly- it didn’t sit well, didn’t like being held. He rotated it, the biggest of the points sticking out away from his palm.

Breath held. Sitting exactly still. He tried again. His hands met. A sharp crack stabbed his ears. FLASH.

YES.

Elation like nothing before. It coursed through his veins like life itself. His head pounded and his heart beat so fast it nearly escaped.

But the flash had gone. Where? Why? He remembered the pine tree. The great flash had landed on the dead part. It had been dry and hollow and full of straw pulled in by nesting creatures. The bright glow had stated within. In the straw. The flashes needed something to eat to get big, to get warm.

He scraped together some dead grass and moss. Tense, he braced himself. He tried again. Gripping hard he struck.

CRACK.FLASH!

The little bit of bright landed on the grass. The grass turned brown and black. Grey haze floated away. The wind picked up just a breath. Orange. Yellow. The grass was not enough. The spark was alive and feeding. Growing before him. He grasped it I his fingers. The hot pain made him yelp. He dropped the little ball of orange.

The standing grass caught straight away. Soon it was as tall as his knee. Hooting and dancing he called the others over. He dropped twigs and little sticks and saw them devoured by the growing, writhing thing. Then he dropped branches upon the riot of colour and sound.

He looked at the stones of the floor. His own great flash. From nothing more than rocks. He grinned. They were already sitting round it, watching it, getting as close as the dared, fingers spread wide to catch the heat. A head turned asking what was this? Where had it come from? Is it here to stay?

He looked at the two rocks now in his hand.


It is fire. He said.
I made fire.
And yes. It is here to stay.

They made room for him as he joined them.