Hunter

Transcript:

The Last Figly

Once upon a time, somewhere in the North West, there lived a small village of figlys. These figlys lived peacefully deep within the woods. They were very strange creatures. They stood about two inches tall, they wore mushrooms for hats occasionally, and they made their homes in the trunks of redwood trees. Come to think of it, I’m not sure they weren’t just entirely mushrooms. Nonetheless, they lived ordinary lives much like anyone else. They foraged their food by scavenging for berries and nuts. They played and socialized with each other. The figlys never made trouble for anyone. But oh boy, did trouble find them. It wasn’t long ago that the figlys were no more in fact. It was the day the yellow contraptions came and, stole the homes of the figlys. I remember that day very well.

That day, the figlys ran about just as they always did. Though one in particular played by itself on the outskirts of their village. It was the first of its kind to feel the rumble of those yellow contraptions. Though they had experienced earthquakes before, the redwoods the figlys resided in were strong and could resist every yank and pull of the earth. The lone figly however, wanting to check and make sure everything was alright, wandered back to its village. But as it walked the rumbles got louder and the air began to stink. It were as if charcoal were ground into a fine dust and blown into your face. But as the figly reached its home, it could see it was brighter than usual. The trees had not lost their canopies, but they had been lost altogether. All that remained were the yellow contraptions standing on hills of mud and soil as if they were triumphant in their battle. The figlys were no more. Though one stood alone at the edge of the muddy landscape, and it ventured slowly into the open with a cut heart. Everything and everyone were gone. All that remained was the harsh world.

Though our little figly was not out of the woods yet. For soon after venturing into the open a German Shepard would spot it and chase it even further into the landscape. The figly went on and on running from the dog. Ducking through broken branches, and trenches of mud. Until the poor figly made a grave error. It trapped itself inside a hollow stump of a redwood. The figly was so awfully frightened staring up at the maw clasping its teeth around the edges of the wood. It wondered to itself things like, why did this happen? Was there anything that could have been done? How would it get out of there? But above all sadly, it thought, what would come of surviving? Would surviving these jaws of death only bring another pair of hungry teeth? What good would come of tomorrow in a world of yellow contraptions and throats that bark for death? This is what the figly thought as it cowered inside the stump. At first it was frightened, but soon it was no longer scared. The last figly knew it was just that. And so an hour past, and the dog gave up, but the figly did not move, it did not budge. It just laid there, in the place it once called home. Where it would rest until its final days.