The forest of Hatuga is not just a static land, but a living, breathing organism. Every vine, every rock, every waterfall draws breath and participates in the cycle of life and death. Some parts, however, are more alive than others. These are vibrant communities that depend on conduits plugged directly into nature itself, creatures serving as the foundation of a small ecosystem, one housing hundreds of inhabitants much smaller than them. They exist in harmony, each providing for and living off the other, not in a parasitic relationship, but for the sake of keeping their little patch of Hatuga alive.
Most of these communities were built on the back of giant tortoises, by far the most reliable and stable of conduits, able to power through almost any external environment. Giant armadillos were also popular, but could only be appreciated by a certain niche group of animals, as their shells were segmented and not always comfortable when the creature habitually rolled into a ball. Giant crabs appealed solely to the coastline, and outdid the giant clams when it came to underwater ability. But, above all of these, the most impressive isolated ecosystem could be found on top of an enormous Glyptodon, dubbed affectionately by its three-thousand and six passengers as Old Gyro.
Old Gyro was a magnificent beast with a peculiarly curved shell, one that sharply arched over his back, sloping down half a mile on either side before curving upwards, gathering ponds in the rim. Deciduous trees sprung up all over his back, rooted deeply in his spine and flowering all through the winter as they drew their power from his endless supply of blood. The birds fought for a place in those trees, which sprouted the most invigorating fruit and the tastiest nuts. Their flowers lured bugs by the millions each month with their rich perfumes, proving a haven for amphibians, reptiles, and arachnids, who simply had to open their mouths to find their stomachs full in an instant. There were no big cats, scavenging dogs, or birds of prey, for Old Gyro would let nothing that would upset his prized ecosystem come near enough to threaten it. All those predators could do was jeer from afar, awaiting the moment that Old Gyro finally collapsed from the weight of his burden. But it was no burden to him; it was his life’s work. These creatures, great and small, were his charges, and his purpose was to protect and nurture them with his life.
It was a day like any other day on the back of Old Gyro when a magpie looked around and decided he was not satisfied with his surroundings. Of the creatures who lived atop that Glyptodon, the magpie certainly contributed the absolute least. His sole interest was for his own little nest, which didn’t even house eggs but worthless materials that gleamed prettily in the sunlight. He puzzled and puzzled over why he was so deep in the dregs, and eventually decided it was no fault of his, but Old Gyro’s. After all, their world was limited by the scope of that magnificent shell. Were these not representative of the limits he felt encumbered him?
The magpie called a meeting of minds to figure out how their community could improve. These minds dubbed themselves “The Council of Deciding What is the Right Thing to Do.” It was comprised of a koala, who served as head of the board, a hognose snake, who offered up tactical defense strategies, a sloth, who analyzed modes and methods of transport, and a cane toad, who was versed in the act of educating the young. The magpie was in charge of finances, but also self-appointed primary speaker of the council. So he opened the meeting, having first called it, as was his right.
“Fellow citizens of the Shell,” trilled the magpie in his alluring digitized warble, “my name is Zit. I, like you, have enjoyed the life we have been living on the back of Old Gyro…to a point. Only recently have I realized that our life here is not perfect – far from it, actually! And as I meditated on the reasons for why our life here is not perfect, day and night and night and day, I was inspired to form this meeting of minds so that I may ask you the question that troubles me. So, I put this question forth to you: what, precisely, makes our life here not perfect?”
The other animals lowered their heads and debated the magpie Zit’s existential crisis. After a few moments, the Koala poked her head out with an answer.
“Just the other day, as I was enjoying some fresh berries, I noticed a few flightless birds below begging for the juicy remnants that dripped from the corners of my cheeks. Then, all of a sudden, Old Gyro tripped over his own clumsy feet and shook me out of the tree! The flightless birds retreated with the rest of my snack, and I’ve had a splitting headache ever since…”
Zit squawked with delight. Of course! It was all Old Gyro’s fault, for he was the foundation on which their home stood. Corrections were planned immediately within the council, and, with enough signatures from unwitting animals who did not quite understand what all the buzz was about, Zit flew to the ancient glyptodon’s ear and voiced their complaints.
“Listen here, you clumsy oaf. Don’t you realize what you’ve done? All your lumbering about has put animals in a panic, so we’re going to cripple you at the legs. Who needs walking, anyhow, when they’re basically one peak short of a mountain? You must do comply, it’s for the benefit of all involved.”
Old Gyro nodded with gentile complicity. After all, he did not live on his back, so surely those who relied upon him knew what was best for their own living conditions. Accepting his fate, the gentle giant wandered onwards until he reached a lake, settled down comfortably, and didn’t even feel a thing as his nerves were severed at the ankles. With his mouth near the water, Old Gyro was now rendered immobile, but still self-sufficient.
Zit could not explain why he felt even worse than before. They had done good for all animals of the Shell, so why did he feel like small beans had been accomplished in the grand scheme of things?
Within the next week, another meeting of the minds was called. After much careful deliberation, the Koala poked her head forth with a new solution.
“The other day, I was coiled inside my burrow, dreaming lovely dreams of the progress we would make for our fellow creatures and a throat full of rodents, when I felt parched for a sip of cool water. I slithered to the rims of Old Gyro’s shell, only to discover that they were dry as a rhino’s buttookis. Yet, when I made the journey all the way to the front of this land, what do I see? Old Gyro, slurping up an entire lake to his heart’s content!”
Zit squawked, aghast. Of course! It was all Old Gyro’s fault, for the rainclouds could see how full he was with their blessing, which prevented them from dropping further rain for the other creatures. Adjustments were decided upon immediately within the council, and, with enough support bought with leaflets full of water from animals who did not feel safe leaving their home and walking two feet to sip from the lake, Zit flapped to the ancient glyptodon’s ear and croaked their complaints.
“Can you hear me, you ignorant beast? You’ve done it again! As you lay there, your fat face filling itself up with as much water as you want, the rest of us aren’t spared a drop. So, to help you do the right thing, we’re going to tie your gaping jewels shut, for all our sakes. You must do comply, for what good are you if you can’t provide your citizens their basic needs?”
Old Gyro nodded with hesitant complicity. After all, he could drink as much as he desired from those boundless waters, so he trusted those who relied upon him knew how to manage their part of the ecosystem. Accepting his fate, the generous giant grit his teeth harshly together, and begrudgingly allowed vines to be wrung around and around until his mouth was clamped shut for good.
Now, the other animals on the back of Old Gyro’s shell were starting to realize that maybe this self-appointed council didn’t really know what they were doing. Their true troubles only seemed to become evident once Old Gyro was crippled, and then compounded once he was deprived of water. They stopped aging, as if the glyptodon’s movement were like the rotation of a planet, whereas the foliage around them showed its age by decaying rapidly, for it relied on the healthiness of Old Gyro’s blood to flower and bloom. All of a sudden, it came back to them that a similar disaster had befallen Ankylosaur, considered the utopia of shelled communities, who which had met its end mysteriously from within. Was history to repeat itself? It mustn’t! It couldn’t! Not when they had played some part in it, no!
Hundreds of creatures, from mammal to the insect, beseeched “The Council of Deciding What is the Right Thing to Do,” but all the members had taken up residence in the heights of the tallest Camphor tree sprouting from the peak of the shell, too high up to hear these widespread complaints.
That is, all except the cane toad, who secretly vacated the shell from time to time to moisten her skin in the lake outside. She had passed by some of the protests and organized efforts to overturn the damage done by their well-meaning efforts, and swiftly reported back to the president of the council. Who, in turn, explained the experience to everyone else.
“Not even an hour ago,” explained the Koala, “I was hopping about our beautiful forest, looking for some young who might need gentle guidance from all-too-eager lips, when the sting of ungrateful discontent burned my ears. Down there, below us, at the foot of our tree, our fellow citizens of the shell are voicing complaints and miseries to us. But we are not the problem, of course! Everything we have done was for their benefit and interest, I’m not seeing where this spirit of outrage has sprouted from.”
Zit knew. Oh, he knew, for every problem they had dealt with, every blockade in their path to progress, was erected by that crafty Old Gyro! He flew at once to the glyptodon’s wheezing nostrils, perched irritatedly upon them, and looked brazenly into his sad eyes.
“How dare you, you selfish thing! Can you hear the voices razing against progress on your behalf? And what for? You should feel purposeful in providing for them, and for us, but for some reason your discomfort is worth jeopardizing all that. Cease spreading lies about our goodwill at once! Do you want everyone to leave your shell for somewhere else?”
But, as Zit tried to figure out some way to make Old Gyro comply, he remembered that he had already tied his mouth shut. So, then, how were complaints of his situation getting out? He studied, and pondered, and it dawned on him, looking into his glassy, innocent eyes…his eyes. Old Gyro was conveying so much emotion through those depressive eyes alone, surely those were what made all the other citizens of the shell depressed! Before Old Gyro could understand his critic’s intentions, the magpie dove straight for one of his eyes and popped it with his beak.
Old Gyro roared, louder than any roar heard since the sleeping gator upon whose back all Hatuga now prospered. His life on the line, Old Gyro finally decided to fight back. He tried to stand up to the magpie – but his ankles were clipped, and he could not rise. He growled and tried to devour the magpie in one bite – but his jaws were tied shut, he could not open them. Besides, he was so deprived of water, he hadn’t the energy to move his massive frame even if he did have control of all his faculties.
With one eye remaining, Old Gyro couldn’t tell where the magpie would come from next. His heart pounded, sending tremors throughout the land on his back. To think, a beast as magnificent as he, reduced to fear of a puny tittering bird! Yet that’s where he was at, for he had given the Magpie such power on his own. And he could do nothing else but regret as Zit flapped up from below and jabbed his remaining eye, blinding him permanently.
Old Gyro didn’t roar this time – he sighed. He heaved such a monumental sigh, laying his head at the shore of the lake, and was still forevermore. The other citizens of the shell had no idea what happened, but they all felt rocked to their core by the impromptu silence; they could feel that life had left all the plants and rocks around them, even if they couldn’t see it. It weighed heavily upon their hearts, and they couldn’t explain why – they just knew there was no use trying to make things better now.
“The Council of Deciding What is the Right Thing to Do” also felt something like that, but they were more concerned as to where their leader flew off to. They felt aimless without him, and waited worrisomely for his return. They waited, even as a crack split Old Gyro’s shell straight down the middle. They stood fast in the heights of the Camphor tree, even as the shell caved in and the ground beneath them crashed like dust into a yawning fissure. And, still, they did not budge – even as the Camphor tree tipped over into the depths, taking them all crashing down into the barren grave of Old Gyro’s ribcage.
The survivors made their way carefully down the ruins of their home’s imploded foundation. They were sad, downcast – but it would be a lie to say they had not been expecting this outcome, sooner or later. And so they knew exactly their response as the shadow of Zit the Magpie covered them all, offering to sell them his cheap comfort.
“My fellow citizens of the shell,” clucked Zit, “What a tremendously traumatic experience we have all endured. But do not worry! Once we have elected a few of you to oversee the creation of our new home, we can begin-“
“That’s enough!” erupted a Kiwi, who had grown especially weary of the magpie’s posturing. “We all had a hand in this travesty, but let’s not forget it’s you who led the charge! Maybe we deserve this for our complicity, or for taking for granted what Old Gyro gifted all of us, but one thing is for certain: we all learned a valuable lesson. And that lesson was, whatever second rate ecosystem we build as basically a shell of what we once had, you, my friend, will not be a part of it.”
A rallying cry rose up from the ranks of the former citizens of the shell, who started off to join other communities, or were spirited enough to build themselves a new one that would rival what they once had. Their home might be beyond recovery, but they would rise up from the dirt and reclaim what idle complicity had taken from them; it was a setback, and setbacks are never permanent. Only defeat is final.
Zit was left behind, hurt and bewildered by their abandonment. Didn’t they know the pains he had taken in forming the council, in making the hard decisions – all for them and a better way of life? All he cared about was improving their community, and they cruelly abandoned him! He wondered where he had gone wrong, and could not find the answer to that question, so he wondered what gave him such unselfish visions of grandeur in the first place, when he recalled his nest of pretty shinies. His shinies! Had they survived the collapse? Zit flew frantically into the rubble, searching and clawing among the dust and bone for his collection. As long as he could reclaim what he possessed before he threw it so carelessly away for others, he might be partly whole again. Oh, if only they had brought him happiness back then, maybe none of this would have happened! He didn’t deserve defeat, but here it was all around him, and he could account it so as the Treasurer of a broken bank.
Zit dug and dug with more passion than he ever had leading the council. He dug and dug with more single-mindedness, more inspiration to recover his belongings, that he willfully ignored the jeering of scavengers as their predatory circle tightened around him.
Morning's Early Dark 