The mission

I was chosen after a lot of deliberation.

It must have been a difficult choice, and most likely a choice made out of compulsion, not unlike choices that we all make. Convoluted deception is no different than delusion and the freedom we seek, that we fight for is not for free will but for an exoneration from our mediocrity.

This confidence with which I proclaim that I wasn’t a willful choice stems from my lack of interest in the scheme of things and in every endeavor that I find myself pushed into. My indolence conveniently translated to my silence during the crucial debate. The candidates, that is my brothers who like to call themselves comrades, without any inkling to the sinister connotations of the word, were as interested as I was to go on the mission. However, interest is as subjective as the perceived object on which it is intended, mine didn’t overcome the barriers of my doubts, regarding speech, at the least.

So why was I chosen, you might ask.

Not that you are compelled to but you shouldn’t mind since I am already answering the question. The biggest deterrent to asking questions is the pause, that knowing look you hate, or in the worst case counter questions that you have to go through. I suggest blinking. It usually works, blink now and read on.

So the answer is consensus. It always favors the silent, that non-committal underdog who you would love to evaluate but you know you would get only so far. I didn’t intend to be that insufferable underdog though. Everything I am and everything I do is driven by one quality, that defining quality of nature, of the universe, and of every sentient being that we lovingly call ‘laziness’.

It is inertia and not thought that defines existence, for if we take an initiative we run the risk of straying, the natural tendency therefore is to go with the flow or not move at all. It is the basis of society and civilization. But everything around us, including our Gods, our ethics, sciences and arts conspire to show us glimpses of a brilliant horizon, almost within reach, a temptation that is as vile as sin.

Unlike my so called comrades, I resist this seduction with the only weapon I possess, the one that I don’t need to brandish, or sharpen or even apply on the opponents. Optimism defends laziness in a way that is so elegant that we cant help not to overlook. Perfection, though very virtuous never gets our attention. It is too academic to appeal. Baboons over ages have developed a keen sense to detect imperfections, the blemishes and aberrations which are the biggest weaknesses of men, the only competing species left after years of global warming, and cooling and the whale wars and…well, to sum up much has happened that you may not remember, neither would your great grandspecies. But like us, men have learnt to harness the outliers, it is not the perfect but the mutants that are their biggest strength.

Given the state of the world, you would assume that there would be conflict to reach the apex, but you would be as wrong as the wolves are. These preparations, carried on both sides is not to outdo each other and reach the apex, but collaborate to reach the moon. With the moon worked up day and night, the howling never stops. We tried killing these pesky wolves but they reproduce with a libido that is proportional to the rate of decimation.

The prevalent notion in the ghettos is that they are trying to tell us something, but after careful study of Howlish and the EM waves from the moon it was proven that wolves alphabet had no consonant and that the source of the waves lies on the moon. We just hope it is on the surface of the moon and that they continue to communicate with vowels. It is not so well established however if the emitter was always there on the moon, our records show no readings till the age when men used to be those annoying apes.

If you scavenge for achievements of men in history books, you would find their obsession with moon, both in their arts and in science. This scouring for moon in men records is mostly carried out by the irritating standup comedians who never tire of the moon mission jokes. But, one cant be sure. Maybe they did plant the device, at least thats what my dad used to think. He compensated his obsession with conspiracy theories by his equally weird and unbaboonic sense of humor. Carrying a human name, that too Neil Armstrong must have had an effect on me, not that I am aware of but then awareness is a lot of work that gets you nowhere.

I wait in this circular white paneled room for my human comrade and the mission briefing. I know how it would go, that slow and steady simulated voice which will drone on and on. There is a white table in the center with a single banana, shining and tempting like a joke you like but would rather not laugh at. I hope my name when announced will have the same effect. What I wish for is that you, the commiserating alien, or a more evolved species would read this note and try to locate the abomination and destroy it. I feel sleepy already, fighting the urge to eat the banana is tiring.