This is the first part of a collaboration with @krzysz00!
End Of Endings — 2403
×
Rye — 2409
The Woman sat down on the floor by The Dog. She knew he was a cladist, for cladists come in many shapes — did she not also appear as a skunk? And a panther? And now, here, she was a human! — and so hoped he might have insight into unbecoming. This, after all, was the purpose of her visit to Le Rêve, the neighborhood of the fifth stanza, that of The Poet and The Musician and My Friend, and also The Child. It was The Child who was her goal, you see. She wished to speak with those who had changed, who had pushed themselves into new molds, who had become something new, that they might no longer be what had once drove them. Stillness lay in choice — that was the thought she held onto — that is the thought that I wish I could believe; would that I could choose to be still! Would that I could choose silence and images instead of yet more words.
The Dog had attached himself to Au Lieu Du Rêve, to the theatre troupe and to the fifth stanza, to His Skunks, some time ago. He spent many lazy days among them, many evenings dozing by the kettlecorn stand in the theater lobby in the hopes of someone dropping their snacks, many frantic minutes carrying The Child's latest core dump to the resident systech after she yet again in a bout of play had crashed.
The Dog was the fork of a systech, itself. No longer a systech, primarily a dog, but with such a drive within it. It, like its fellow dogs, lived a simplicity that Its Elder found himself wishing for now and again, but it still felt that sense of duty to people and the world. How very canine of it! How very companionable! Friendship is stored in the dog, yes? It did not know if it would ever grow weary of its role and return to Its Elder, or perhaps cast away what remained of its desire to do anything but exist as itself.
"I want to unbecome," The Woman said to The Dog, crouching down where it lay, curled in sun, curled on a cushion so thoughtfully provided. "I want to become still. I came to speak with Motes, but you have done a similar thing, and I want to understand."
The Dog heard these words. He understood, I think, that he was being asked about how he became himself. He knew he could think about these things, could answer, could take up a larger piece of his buried humanity and become a being of words and such actions. He did not want to do this, but he did not not want to.
It rose. It walked in front of the kettlecorn machine. It sat. It raised its front paws to beg. It was certain its intent was clear.
The Woman made a bag of kettlecorn and held out a piece to The Dog. He accepted, of course. What dog would not?
"Practice and wanting," The Dog said.
"Practice?" The Woman asked, lowering herself down to once more meet The Dog on its level.
The Dog did not answer, but sniffed in the direction of the corn.
The Woman gave The Dog another piece, for this was, evidently, the deal. "I remember," The Dog said. "The tall one wanted to eat and chase and fetch and be. He wanted to not worry, to not tire himself out chasing making the world better. But he couldn't just become me, become us — The Job is important."
The Dog waited for another bribe before continuing, for this was, evidently, the deal. "He practiced becoming the pack, becoming like me. I remember many forks of his. Some that didn't let go enough, some that let go too much. But he wanted to make me, make the pack. He kept wanting, kept trying, and now I am."
The Dog yawned. He had said a lot of words, and that was not always comfortable for him. It is not comfortable for me, yes? I am a being of words and words and words and words and it is uncomfortable, my friends, so uncomfortable. It reminded The Dog too much of human things, of things he no longer was in some integral way. He wanted a nap.
"'Let go too much'?" The Woman asked.
"Some of us forget our job," The Dog explained.
"Job?"
The Dog's tail wagged. "Yes! I watch and if someone becomes a black ball or the ground goes weird or something like that I fetch help! It's very important! When I do it, people call me a good dog and give me pets and treats!"
The Woman reached out to pet The Dog. It relaxed into the pressure.
"Some of the pack decide they don't want the job, want to do what the tall one is afraid of. They want to never talk, never plan."
"I want something like this, perhaps," The Woman said. "I want to unbecome, to be still. Do you know how?"
The Dog froze in a swelling of alarm. His fears came from the same simplicity as his joys. While he was wont to let the possibility of casting off his humanity sneak up on him slowly, he still felt fear, like His Elder did, at such a blunt statement of the idea. "Don't want! Who will watch Motes?"
The Woman gently soothed The Dog, letting the interaction fade away behind a stream of pets and scratches in just the right spot (for The Dog knew how to direct people to it) and more treats. We are creatures of pleasure all, you see. The Woman and I, yes — for do we not both like being brushed? — but also the rest of our clade and so many others besides. What pleasure there is in rending the mind from the body and letting it live as it will! What pleasure! What pleasure there is in choosing a form one inhabits entirely! What pleasure there is in living for decades and centuries! The Dog was pleased that The Woman had not been told by Its Skunks not to feed it too much kettlecorn, or that, if she had, she was ignoring them.
Once The Dog had come down from being ambushed by the thought of abandoning those principles he had carried into his state, he realized what The Woman had wanted. "Can show you pack-friends who go chase rabbits all the time. But no words because they don't want. And can't say how. Don't want to know."
"Good dog. Thank you," The Woman said, and pet the dog some more. "Good dog. Good dog."
The Dog lit up. It was a good dog!
The Woman saw this and had a thought. "Are you happy?" she asked, handing over one more kernel. "Are you at peace?"
The Dog had made himself into a dog, more or less, and so was not one to consider the path of his life with much reflection or weight. He was rarely a creature of the past or the future.
"Happy? Yes! Have treat!" The Dog leapt up and started doing little hops, having realized it had an opportunity. "Throw ball? Then, very happy!"
The Woman could tell this was all the answer she would get for now. A ball appeared in her paw.
The Woman threw. The Dog fetched, and in that moment, in that place, there was peace.