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Philos, by Thaddeus Couldron

From the Desk of a Big Dinosaur

by Perry Crowe

That thing in the sky is just getting bigger. Every day, a little bigger. Hanging there above me, getting bigger. I thought I had something in my eye the first time I saw it. But blinking didn’t take it away. It was enough to send chills up my spine that I didn’t feel until my brain processes them fifteen minutes later. And when I finally felt the tingle, I was, like, okay, did I just get the willies or is a pack of velociraptors tearing into my thick hide right now, digging for marrow? It wasn’t the raptors. I almost wish it had been.

That thing in the sky is a harbinger, that’s for damn sure. You just get a gut feeling about these things. Like when some of them little dinosaurs started growing those weird, long, soft scales and hopping around flapping their arms. I always got nervous around them. So I stomped a bunch of them once. Or tried to. They’re pretty fast. They seem- what’s the word?- adaptable. They have to be. Life that low to the ground is complex. Shit to be considered and scrutinized. Not up here, though. I just lumber around like the goddamn thunder lizard I know myself to be, engaging in food, drink and seasonal sexual congress.

But now the speck. Already I’m looking at a different sky. What do you cling to when you’re looking at a different sky? But the little guys take it in stride. Hell, they seem excited, even. Beating their freaky little arms like they want to go up there and give the speck a kiss. I remember back when Pterodactyls were the only ones who could fly. At least that shit made sense. I get the feeling they’re involved somehow. But that might just be the paranoia talking. The crocodilians seem pretty cool these days, too, and those guys are old school. But who can tell with their permanent grins and their lying tears. I think they’re all on drugs.

But I suppose we’re all dealing with impending catastrophe in our own ways. I hear one guy is going to just go wait it out in a Scottish Lake. Maybe he’s got the right idea. Just lay low and hope for the best. But part of me thinks we can still roll up our sleeves and do something about it. Maybe if we can figure out where the speck is going to land a bunch of us could pile up on the spot and maybe cushion the impact. Obviously it’d be curtains for those folks, but the rest of us would live on. Have to be chosen by lottery. Ah, it’s a pipe dream anyway. None of us have the first clue how to map a trajectory. We’d have to sit and wait for the thing to really be coming down and then race to the spot. And we don’t have that much hustle. Who needs hustle when you stand two hundred feet tall and your name means “thunder lizard”?


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