The Early Battle for Sentient Earth

He left his cave and headed outside. Something had woken him. His fire was still burning so he knew it was some time before the warmth would arrive from the fire ball. He also knew that it was not the approach of the furred ones with the claws and long teeth that sometimes threatened him or he sometimes threatened too. While his fire burned, he was safe.

He looked about, the night sky a glittering mass. He gazed at it reverently and closed his eyes to the power it had to instil fear, despite the fact that he saw it every darkening, unless it was coated by water blankets.

There was whirring, like the clicking insects that flew at him or nibbled on him in the night - if he didn't nibble on them first. This was louder, a riot of sound, not a chorus. He didn't like the way it made him feel in his lower gut, a primeval instinct that pulled it taut, insisting on action and urgency and wariness.

Tentatively, he crept towards the rock outcrop that shielded the entrance to his den. He doubled back when he heard strange chattering and grabbed his "spear" - a rough hewn branch with a sharp flint end, tied with animal sinew. He was scared and curious and once again, he moved slowly, crouching low to the rock face to peer over.

The trees were alive! Lights flashed! This was not the work of the fire ball nor the darkening's flecks. This was something new. It was wondrous as he viewed it, wide-eyed, but he trembled at it. And then he saw "them". Hairless, not furred. Pale green ones, and they glowed, like enormous fireflies. Bigger. Shiny like the cold slick that hung on his cave walls in winter its darkest corners.

Adrenaline advised him to stay hidden so he did. But he was concerned and let out little hoots of anxiety. This was his place and these were strangers in his territory. He poked his head over the rock again and saw that there were many, his eyes startled at their numbers.

And then the blasting commenced and it terrified him so much that he ran into his cave and cowered near his bone pile in fear.

*

The blasting retreated but he waited until the fire ball had come from its rest before venturing out. He needed to shit and he needed to eat. Thirsty too. He took his spear.

He sniffed the air and it smelt of death. He whimpered but took gentle steps forward. Normally, he would bound out, energised and eager. Berries would be harvested or he would hunt for small animals. He didn't like the smell - scorched like his furs when he sat too close to his fire. He decided to make his way to the water, knowing that this combatted flame.

Gingerly, he climbed the rocks to the woods. Except there were no woods. There was nothing except heat, smoke rising from charred stumps. His bushes were gone. There were no creatures to hunt. The land was bare where it wasn't before and he didn't like seeing its scalp and he didn't like the insipid sting of the smoke.

He howled in outrage and hooted in mourning and ran towards it in disbelief that it had gone. The ground was still raging at the indignity of being stripped and its embarrassment heated his feet. He hopped comically from foot to foot, and then in pain, ran for the river, thankfully still flowing.

A smell of newly burnt hair was added to the acrid stench of wanton destruction but the bliss he felt from his pain was a momentary blessing.

He did not understand what was happening. He felt a sense of sadness mixed with a terror that was new to him, a fear not experienced even when faced with a startled pighog in the woods. He let out an involuntary cry. No pighog. His woods! No longer.

He dangled his feet until they went numb. The fire ball tried to cut through the dense ashen grey, unsuccessfully. He decided to go back to his cave as he had a compulsion to draw on his walls, with a soft stone, in a bid to make sense of it all.

*

The planet was reeling. It felt the burns on its skin and shrieked at the pain as the alien invaders scoured and blasted their way through. Its very nature was threatened, its existence as a living thing. It knew that its residents, so wide and varied, were suffering. It knew that they could not combat the invaders. It had known interlopers before, those who wanted to conquer what it had, to prevent its evolution, to eradicate the threat before it grew too powerful - a galactic cleansing. But this was on a new level. Before, there had been isolated skirmishes on its surface but this was systematic, controlled; and already Earth felt sapped. But it would rally.

It wouldn't give in without a fight.

*

He looked at his work on the cave wall and he liked what he saw. Part of his limited imagination disliked the defeat he had depicted. And so, he decided to draw a solution.

*

The planet was resourceful. It had tools at its disposal, the manifestation of which we would now call Mother Nature. It felt the scratching of early man's cave artistry. It felt the forms being etched into its boulders, its skin, like a tattoo - tornadoes; rushing water; storms of the earth; thick, thick snowfall; giant waves; exploding mountains; acid pools. It could feel the little alien creatures, like lice with knives, crawling all over it and it also felt the hope that the rudimentary drawings gave the early man; that this battle could be won. It drew on that hope and its reserves of energy and started to act.

*

There were others like him although he knew not where. He had caught glimpses but always shied away. Sometimes, they had hooted and whooped at him, arms wide, teeth bared. Part of him wanted to see them, be with them. He liked the idea that they were there even if they did not want him near. What if they'd gone too? He drew people on the wall, with spears like his and arms raised, facing the glowing blasters he'd briefly witnessed.

*

It was a blueprint. The planet homed in on its sorest spot, the woods near the artist. The planet wished him no harm but once its power was released, its scourge would eradicate all...it hoped. Perhaps a light rockfall to cover the entrance and keep him safe? The planet went to work.

*

Twisters. Roaring across the land. The planet felt them as a tickle but the interlopers had nothing to combat them. Their blasters? Useless. Their neutralisers? Obsolete. As they were whirled and pounded, circulated and pulverised, they marvelled at their underestimation of these phenomenon.

Calderas. Vomiting Earth's red hot core in spumes of molten rock and blistering steam geysers. The planet felt these as a sunbeam but the interlopers were seared and destroyed. They were unable to harness the power of cool water, its restorative power a scourge to their alien flesh and so, those without speed perished by fire and acidic showers.

Tsunamis. High, white horses galloping, their foaming, frothing stampede razing everything in their path; their salty hooves demolishing and cleansing their alien scourge, transforming these intergalactic beasts into flotsam and jetsam, as they cantered across the Earth's terrain, a cavalry thundering relentlessly. The planet felt them as a trickle but the invaders barely felt them at all as the watery touch was, for them, an instant killer.

This would be Earth's final attack.

*

He was trapped but he heard the cacophonous rage of Earth's revenge. He listened, eyes closed tight, fists clenched in his earthly prison. He did not understand that the planet held him to its bosom, close and precious. Shivering and howling in synchronisation with the violence and fervour of the onslaught, he sat it out and hoped.

When the stillness came, he went to the rocks where his entrance had been. Water puddled through the chinks. He laboured, hoping to see the fire ball and feel its kind warmth. Piece by piece, he inched outside. No fire ball. Less light. But there was serenity in the calm. No smell of death. Saltiness. The white ball was showing its glowing face tonight, curious at Earth's fate.

He held his spear tightly. He climbed to the forest plain. Desolation still. It glistened. The land was misshapen, new layers undulating, raised hills where there had been trees. A matte green powder was dotted widely but inconsistently, in piles. He did not like its look. He knew what the green had once been.

His heart lifted.

A breeze swirled gently and the tip of a pile dispersed, blowing green grains, like a verdant storm, across the landscape. He looked up above and fell to his knees in exhaustion. He barked as he sobbed, as he laughed, as he grieved, his relief palpable as it quaked through the appreciative earth.

And in the stark wilderness, which was already beginning to heal, an answering bark, a little higher in pitch, also launched itself towards the night sky, thankful to be alive and not alone.

***

1553 words - a little over the requirements but I am hoping that Liam will allow it. But if not, I've enjoyed the writing of this enormously.

Here's the link to his original challenge:

Thanks for stopping by! If you do read this, please do leave a comment as I love to interact with my readers. If you have read anything of mine and commented in the last two weeks, I apologise for my inattention but I took a break and have only come back into the wonderful Vocal sphere of involvement today. I will try and catch up with comments as and when I can and apologise again for my neglect. It's good to be back!