Goorillas in the Missed: Abort Mission

The little girl came back today. She sauntered in to the goorilla habitat, as if she had always belonged. She stood and watched the goorillas from a distance. The goorillas were gathered around a wide pit in the ground, at least 6 feet wide, and they were just staring into it. Just squatting and staring. I noticed one of the goorillas was missing. Of course, none seemed to mind. Silently, the others squatted and peered down into the pit, without a twitch of their hairs nor a sputtering of their sloppy lips to indicate any response to the thing.

After gaining a better vantage point, I could see that the missing goorilla was standing IN the pit, looking up at the others, blankly. Was this some kind of game?, I wondered. Or a ritualistic pleasure? A pit orgy? They all just sat there, not moving, not speaking, and certainly not suggesting any course of action to in any way alter the condition of one goorilla being in the pit. I did not know who created this pit. I would have been surprised if the goorillas had managed it, perfectly circular and so deep as to contain a standing goorilla (not slouching as usual). Such a pit was the result of forethought and imagination. It seemed to have required tools, not merely for digging but for measurement, and a dexterity nearly human. ...Oh. The girl. Of course.

As soon as I had thought it, the girl appeared behind one of the squatting goorillas and pushed him into the pit! He fell like a tranquilized circus bear. Now there were two goorillas in the pit. The goorillas still squatting remained transfixed as the girl walked around and pushed each one into the pit. Three, four, five, six--they all toppled in. She had merely to nudge them with one fingertip, so weak was their posture. Now all the goorillas were in this pit. Slowly, they stood, and, being now imprisoned as a result of their own inattention, were forced to acknowledge the girl. They stared up at her.

She, with a voice soft as a lamb's but clear as a siren, spoke these words:

There is no sin greater than cowardice,
no virtue greater than love;
but if your hands and eyes are able,
apathy is crime enough
to turn a great thing to dust.
To waste, to waste: Your soul,
having no use, exits.
What is the sound of one soul exiting?
No sound. But an internal clock
of quickly ticking thoughts
counts your passage
through a hall of open doors.
Silence won't stay time, and
closed doors make a house darker.
Forgotten, you have,
to giggle, you must,
or turn your spine
to jellied dust;
to play is to enter every door,
pretending there are no monsters.

But you're still a beast, with guts and heart
and an astounding capacity for fear
or greatness,
and whose shit still smells like shit, and
who'll smell even worse when you're dead,
like everyone else

and two plus seven is usually nine but it's a whole lot more written out in honey to be licked off the body of a beautiful woman. THAT's LOGIC.
And IF YOU'RE GOING TO JUST LOCK ALL YOUR DOORS AND WINDOWS AND SIT THERE WHILE THE WORLD BURNS OR TURNS INTO DISNEYLAND (same difference), YOU MIGHT AS WELL GO RIGHT NOW AND SHOVE YOUR HEADS INTO YOUR TELEVISIONS WHILE THE JUICE IS -ON-, YOU SHIT-EATING PUSSY BITCH SHIT-FUCKERS.

One by one, in a terrific smattering of bone and skin, the goorilla's heads exploded. Their bodies collapsed like empty clothing.

From a hiding place around the corner, the girl retrieved a shovel and a red child's wagon filled with dirt. Shovel by shovel, she buried the remains of the goorillas. Each time her wagon ran out, she pulled it away to her hidden dirtpile, and returned with a wagonful to begin shoveling again.

Soon, the goorillas were completely buried. The girl patted the ground with her shovel and smoothed it until there was little evidence of anything having ever been there at all. She placed her shovel across the wagon's rails and returned to the site of the pit. Standing at the center, above the goorilla remains, she squatted, and peed.

When she was through, the girl took her wagon by its handle, and with her shovel in the other hand, she walked away.

And that was my time with the goorillas.

I never learned an explanation for their shit orgies or the abundance of shit which enabled them, but I suppose some things cannot be explained. They are the way they are.