'Consequences' Part 1

Yes, I know there should be more than this by now. Way more. Excuses have been as abundant as ever, and I’ve spent very little time writing over the last two weeks, but it’s time to get it together and post something, so here ya go: ‘Consequences’: scene 1.

…...........................................................................................................................

It was bound to happen I guess.

Truth be told, I’d expected it sooner, but now, as I sat there in that room, as alone a man could be, I could only wish that I had more time.

Time to say goodbye, time to right my wrongs, time to spend in any of the numberless places I’d rather be at this moment; away for my responsibilty; from my call.

But my time was up.

One of the the two fluorescent tubes above my head was out. That was the only change since last time. Same bolted-down table and chairs, same cameras. The reinforced glass panel in the door was the only break from the gray walls and grey ceiling, and nothing ever happened on the other side.

I wished I could kill the genius who put that window there. The guy who built this whole, boring closet, and decided to force me to stare at the same boring part of it for eternity, a glimmer of freedom dangled just out of reach.

Leaving the light burnt out was a nice touch though, made the atmosphere just a little more depressing, and put off a vibe of neglect like they might forget you in there too, and let you starve to death. That’s the sort of thing that makes a good interrogation room, or in this case, a “waiting room”. The distinction coming from the handcuffs which had secured me to the table on my last visit.

I suppose that was different too.

She didn’t knock, but why should she? If there were a name on the building, it would be hers. She shut the door behind her, and took a seat in the chair across the table before speaking.

“Mr. Allen.”

I nodded. “Susie.”

Susan Keller would have been pretty if she didn’t spend so much time being the man. One whiff of her airs, and it was clear who wore the pantsuit in this corporation. Her shoes were tight, her hair was tight, and her manner was tight. Oh, and she hates it when you call her ‘Susie’. Predictable.

“Do you know why you’re here?” She asked. Ms. Keller always had a file with her. Today’s, she placed on the table, turning it for my perspective.

“I hope not.” I said, even as her expression confirmed my fears. She said nothing, only pushing the folder toward me with her fingertips. I accepted it, refusing to allow my hand to tremble. The manila folder sat directly in front of me, unlabeled, save for the cliched ‘classified’ stamp. I pushed it away, unopened.

“How did she get out?”

She sat back in her chair, finally letting what must have been a long day’s frustration escape in a sigh. “I’m not sure anyone can hold on to Patience. Not anymore.” She leaned in. “My guys are the best. You just take a look at that file and tell me what I could have done!”

“Can’t you keep her sedated? Some drugs still work in strong doses...and it weakens when you’re hungry--maybe if you...rationed...”

As I spoke, she shook her head faster and faster. “Allen, we’re not interested in holding her here again. We won’t.”

“Nobody else will hold her.”

“No one else can. And now neither can we. I can’t risk more lives.”

“No, no, no. We had a deal!”

“She killed three of my men!” Susan scooped up the folder, and began to slap papers down in front of me; personnel files. The faces of three dead men stared me down. Lizzie, what have you done? Susan continued. “The terms of our agreement have expired.”

Grant Simpson: Security, Thomas Cardosa: Security, Scott James: Patient care. Two guards and a nurse. Excuses circled in my mind. Maybe the guards fired on her. Maybe the nurse got caught in a blast. No excuse for me, though. Whatever happened, it was my fault.

A photograph was stapled behind every personnel sheet. I lifted the corner of the first; a crime scene shot of Mr. Simpson’s remains. I straightened, my hands in my hair. “What do you want from me? I can’t reason with her. I--I tried.”

“Reason with her?” Indignation. “I don’t care if you can rock her to sleep, we’re not interested in negotiation! She is an extremely dangerous killer, and a terrorist. A death warrant has been issued, and this organization is cooperating fully with the FBI in the manhunt for Patience Elizabeth Allen.”

I lept to my feet. “You brought me here to tell me that?” I demanded. “She’s my sister!”

“Oh, I’m well aware of that. And no, your presence here is a part of our cooperation. You are going to help us find her.”

“I won’t help you kill my sister!”

“Mm, but you will. You see, I don’t think you want any more deaths on your conscience.”

Angry, I slammed my hands down on the metal table surface. “I didn’t do that!” I jabbed my finger at the open file. “This is not on me!”

The tiniest hint of a smirk threatened her unimpressed frown. “I haven’t accused you, Mr. Allen. Frankly, I can’t comprehend why you feel so responsible for your sister’s actions. ...Is it a twin thing? I meant, of course, that you would be responsible if you did not help us.”

“You said ‘more deaths’.”

“Did I?” Now, it was a smirk. “Regardless, willing or not, you will help us find Patience.”

“Willing or not?” I displayed my wrists. “I think you forgot the handcuffs. And the warrant.”

“You’re not a prisoner;” She stood, and made a show of swinging the door wide open. “You’re free to go. We just thought you’d feel safer here, as we believe your sister is trying to find you.”

But of course she was. I began to pace my side of the room; it was so narrow I was practically walking in a tight circle. “We haven’t spoken in years...why would she want anything to do with me?”

“She never stopped asking about you. At first, we told her we didn’t allow visitors, but eventually she realized that you had completely abandoned her. It was shortly after our last conversation about you that she escaped.”

“You think she’ll try to kill me? She wouldn’t...”

“I think she’ll succeed if you don’t tell us how to stop her.”

“You want me to be the bait?”

“Would you prefer ‘victim’?”

I collapsed back into my seat, tears welling in my eyes. “She’s my sister.”

Three dead faces had no mercy. Susan Keller gave them a voice. “She is a killer.”

I broke.

It was quiet for a while. I could only sit, rocking back and forth, weeping silently for Lizzie, and for myself. In my wringing hands, a fourth portrait crumpled, a face I knew better than any other; my childhood, my regrets, my blood.

Minutes passed. Susan was still staring at me, emotionless. Feebly, I opened my clasped hands. The face was unrecognizable, a blotted and runny mess from my tears. Above the featureless picture, two words read clear in bold print. ‘Extremely Dangerous’. I took a deep, shaky breath, and looked up. “She’s stronger than she used to be--I don’t even know what she’s capable of anymore.”

She looked relieved. “Then I’d say it’s time we brought you up to speed.”

…........................................................................................................................

And now, a preview of next week’s episode!

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When she’s angry, it seems like the whole world is angry. The way the leaves are moving--it can’t just be the wind.

“I can’t believe she said that!”

I’ve got to calm her down before the treehouse falls out of the tree. “Who cares what Kirstie says? She’s just a stupid teenager like the rest of ‘em.”

“A stupid teenager who has no idea what she’s dealing with. Just that look on her face!” Is that smoke coming from the wooden floor by her hands? “I could’ve...I could’ve...”

“Hurt her? What good would that do? You’ll get yourself locked up!”

“Hmph. Locked up.” I don’t like that look. “What do they make jail cells out of these days?”

“Here it is. Ceramic composite, just like you specified. We followed your instructions exactly.” My tour guide knocked indicatively on the white wall of the cell, jarring me from my memory. “If any room coulda held her in, it would’ve been this one.”

It did appear that they had followed my instructions, but surely I didn’t mean for it to be so small. The thought that Lizzie had been confined to this tiny room for nearly two years was sickening. The thought that she might justifiably blame me was terrifying...

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Tada! Like, comment, share, ignore, goodnight.

Challenge: Fail.

WAAAAHHHHH!!!!! Why did I do this?!? And then why did I not do it? And...and...oh dear. As I type this sentence, it is 11:38 pm Monday night, and I have absolutely no idea where I’m going with this story.

A word of caution: what are about to read is very likely to be lame, as it was thrown together at the last minute with no inspiration.

Then again, that was kinda the point; this is an exercise.

I need a name...What was that name I thought of earlier? Eh, whatever.

…...............

 

It was bound to happen I guess.

Truth be told, I’d expected it sooner, but now, as I sat there in that room, as alone a man could be, I could only wish that I had more time.

Time to say goodbye, time to right my wrongs, time to spend in any of the numberless places I’d rather be at this moment; away for my responsibilty; from my call.

But my time was up.

One of the the two fluorescent tubes above my head was out. That was the only change since last time. Same bolted-down table and chairs, same cameras. The reinforced glass panel in the door was the only break from the gray walls and grey ceiling, and nothing ever happened on the other side.

I wished I could kill the genius who put that window there. The guy who built this whole, boring closet, and decided to force me to stare at the same boring part of it for eternity, a glimmer of freedom dangled just out of reach.

Leaving the light burnt out was a nice touch though, made the atmosphere just a little more depressing, and put off a vibe of neglect like they might forget you in there too, and let you starve to death. That’s the sort of thing that makes a good interrogation room, or in this case, a “waiting room”. The distinction coming from the handcuffs which had secured me to the table on my last visit.

I suppose that was different too.

She didn’t knock, but why should she? If there were a name on the building, it would be hers. She shut the door behind her, and took a seat in the chair across the table before speaking.

“Mr. Allen.”

I nodded. “Susie.”

…..................

Time out. It’s 12:41. What the heck? Those few paragraphs are all I have to show for an hour’s work? I’ve got to find another writing method... Anyway, onwards!

…................

Susan Keller would have been pretty if she didn’t spend so much time being the man. One whiff of her airs, and it was clear who wore the pantsuit in this corporation.

…...............

Wait...did I just make a pun in my narrative? Can I do that? “One whiff of her airs”? I don’t know why, but that makes perfect sense to me. Get it? ‘Airs’ like the way you hold yourself, like you’re more important than everybody, and ‘whiff’ like... Never mind. I like it.

I need to quit interrupting you here; you’re trying to read a story. (And I’m trying to write one.)

…............

Her shoes were tight, her hair was tight, and her manner was tight. Oh, and she hates it when you call her ‘Susie’. Predictable. 

“Do you know why you’re here?” She asked. Ms. Keller always had a file with her. Today’s, she placed on the table, turning it for my perspective.

“I hope not.” I said, even as her expression confirmed my fears. She said nothing, only pushing the folder towards me with her fingertips. I accepted it, refusing to allow my hand to tremble. The manila folder sat directly in front of me, unlabeled, save for the cliched ‘classified’ stamp. I pushed it away, unopened.

“How did she get out?”

….................

Yay vagueness! Maybe I can write a whole story without having a story!

Anyway, I’m sorry. I have to go to bed. I work in the morning, and it’s 2:39 now.

That’s right. Three hours, and not even a whole page. Maybe you’re starting to see my frustration. “What the heck?” you say. 3 hours?!? You must be the world’s slowest typist!

Well, maybe, but that’s not the problem. I’m thinking and overthinking, and pre-thinking, and rethinking. And re-writing. I really need to work on that. (Keep in mind that this is after editing. More editing than writing, I'd say.)

I’m going to try to have the whole story up by Thursday (Or on Thursday) Hopefully, all that extra thinking will give me a head start. Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think so far, (if there’s enough so far to think about.)

Yeah, I'm disappointed too.

In Which I Challenge Myself

It was bound to happen I guess.

Truth be told, I’d expected it sooner, but now, as I sat there in that room, as alone a man could be, I could only wish that I had more time.

Time to say goodbye, time to right my wrongs, time to spend in any of the numberless places I’d rather be at this moment; away for my responsibilty; from my call.

But my time was up.

….......

...Don’t you want to know what happens? Don’t you want to know who this guys is, and what’s going on? Me too!  I have no idea what any of that means, but I’d really like to, which is why I think that the above paragraph, which I wrote only a minute ago, might be a good opening for a story.

It came easily; no pauses, no writer’s block. It’s times like that when I feel like a good writer. I feel like I could write actual fiction that people might actually want to read. I feel...at home. Like writing is who I am, and what I’m here for. It feels awesome...

And then I stop.

I run into those first questions, and I just don’t know the answers.

Who is this guy?

What was bound to happen?

What is this responsibility he talks about?

What is he waiting for by himself?

To whom did he want to say goodbye?

All of the questions I want the reader to ask, but if I can’t answer them, I’m kinda stuck. So, what now? Now, I suppose I have to make something up.

I hate that. I don’t want to make anything up! It should just come to me!

No, that’s not weird. I feel like my best work comes when I’m under absolutely no pressure, self inflicted or otherwise. I have tons of what I believe are good story ideas piled up in my head. Ideas that “just came to me”, just waiting for me to sit down and type them out. Except when I go to do that, I run into this very problem: details; questions. Even if I knew what genre this story would fall under, or the main point of the story, or a name for the hero, or his motivation, I would be every bit as stuck. I’m starting to realize that I’ll always have to make something up.

I wonder if those contrived ideas will always seem second rate to the inspired...

Probably.

Ooh. “The Inspired”? Possible Sci-fi villain anyone? No? Oh, ok. You’re right. Cheesy.

Anyway, I need to beat this. Writing fiction isn’t going to go away for me. I’ve been making up stories since before I could realize that was what I was doing. When I played with my Hot Wheels cars, they were characters, with strengths, weaknesses, and needs. The heroes never won in the first attempt, and the villains were never beyond redemption. Writing stories is what I was born to do.  I’m tired of wasting what I believe to be one of my greatest gifts just because I’m afraid of a few questions.

I think one of my biggest problems is that I never practice. I love every story too much to throw it away on something like that. I feel like my ideas deserve to be real stories, and the idea of pouring my heart and soul into something for nothing more than the experience is not at all appealing.

I need to get over it.

So...right. We have an opening. Let’s contrive away. It doesn’t have to be good, Andrew; this is practice.

Normally, I wouldn’t start with a vague opening and nothing else, (then again, normally I wouldn’t start at all.) but for the sake of this little practice round, we’ll call it a challenge.

Me: “I challenge me to write a short story from that paragraph, and post it on this blog by... by Tuesday!!”

Me: “Oh, yeah? Well challenge accepted. Oh yes I did.”

Me: “We’ll see, Me. We’ll see.”

...Is ‘me’ a funny word? I think it is. Just listen to it:

Me.......me........me.........ME.....me....Yeah it's a funny word.

Stupid Christians

Ok, so I didn’t post last week.

That happened. Sorry.

Please accept this little rant. I made it just for you. I’m hoping we can all get past this.

                                                                *   *   *

Today, I’m going to talk about stupid Christians.

Ugh. Stupid Christians. Nothing causes my palm to pose so great a danger to my face.

Atheists? Nah.

Injustice? Not so much.

Disney channel programming? (With the obvious exception of Phineas and Ferb) Almost.

Blegch! They’re just so...they’re so stupid!

I’d say that in general, I am decently tolerant of idiots. I mean, they are kinda EVERYWHERE. (I’ve had frequent sightings of idiots operating motor vehicles, for example.) Sure, that annoys me a bit, but I’ve learned to live with it. I’ve worked in a restaurant for a year and a half, and even that hasn’t managed to destroy my faith in humanity. Even if, God forbid, I allow myself to read YouTube comments, I usually manage to avoid causing the damage to my head and desk that occurs when the two are brought together with force, as would be the temptation. I’ve come to accept that stupid people are a part of life. America is a free country, and if you want to use that freedom to say “no thanks” to things like common sense and discretion, go ahead. Stupidity, I suppose, is as much a right as a choice.

But when it comes to what is right and wrong, I draw the line.

A very thick line.

More like a border: with fences and attack dogs and machine guns and DON’T BE A STUPID CHRISTIAN!!

You are representing God! You just lost your right to be stupid!

I’m not talking about how you drive, or about arguing with your most excellent server about whether or not salad is free. (Don’t do that.) I’m talking about knowing what you believe, and knowing why, and having answers for the important questions on which you have NO EXCUSE to even hesitate. I’m talking about about not basing your entire religion on what other people are doing wrong. I’m talking about not completely ignoring the number one command given to you by the one you call your master.

I’m not yelling, I’m just adding emphasis. Leave me alone. Shh.

Why is it that the people who are the most wrong tend to be the loudest? Proverbs probably says something about that, but the fact is, here I am, quietly gritting my teeth, while fools misrepresent me and my God in protests.

“God hates fags.”

No. NO. NO!!! Shut up! I want to make you eat that sign! I...I wanna....I just.... GAAHHHH!!!

GOD.

LOVES.

PEOPLE!!!

You know absolutely nothing about God’s character, yet you attend to represent it on as large a stage as possible?!? How about I give you another sign, one of the Bill Engvall variety, and you can go home and write your autobiography. Call it “How to Make God Facepalm”. Just...shut up and go away.

Ok, fine. I’m yelling. I did actually warn you that this is the one thing that makes me the angriest.

Did you know that on average atheists’ I.Q. scores are 5.89 points higher than Christians?

Why do you think that is?

Is it because smart people are arrogant and the prideful are their own gods? Maybe.

Is it because “God chose the foolish things to confound the wise”? Probably.

Is it because Christianity as it is so commonly practiced and therefore observed actually doesn’t make any sense? I think so.

How many Christians would look at a sign that says “God is in Control”, and nod in agreement? And when an atheist stops to ask “Why then, is the world so messed up?” How many could answer? Not enough.

“There are some things we just don’t understand” or “The Lord works in mysterious ways” or “all thing work together for good” simply will not fly. Shut up.

If God were in complete control of everything that happens on this earth, would that not make everything that happens his will? Would that not make Him responsible that all the pain and suffering the world has ever seen? Who could love such a God?

It’s not complicated. The answers to these questions are available to everyone, and maybe if some of the loud ones would put down their signs and pick up their Bibles, evangelism would be more an answer, and less an argument.

The sad thing is, those idiots will always be around; Satan is not going to give up his greatest weapon. As long as he can twist scriptures and manipulate fears, there will always be someone willing to strap on a sword, paint a cross on their chest, and go “crusading”.

There will always be stupid Christians...

…but they don’t have to be the loudest.

I might just be angry enough. How about you?

Just a few questions...Part 2

Well, that’s interesting. I was looking over my blog, and I noticed that each article has a “posted at:” time at the bottom. I also noticed that they are all wrong.

I wasn’t lying when I said that it was almost 4 in the morning, Blogger, and I don’t appreciate your attempts to assassinate my character!

It would be really stupid to lie about how late I stay up writing my blog. I wouldn’t do that. The time represented is actually two hours slow.

I’m not a liar.

Anywho, part 2:

That rhymes.

This post is too long. I'm sorry.

I’d like to clarify that I’m definitely NOT saying that you can’t be a Christian, and accept evolution.

Millions of Christians believe there is room in a non-literal interpretation of the creation story for evolution. I do not mean to imply that these people are lost.

I am writing these posts because I think that the majority of those Christians believe it because they think they have to; because with what we know of science, there is no other option.

Not true.

Evolution is a theory. Only a theory. It has never been proven, and that’s a fact. It has, however, been accepted. In the mind of an evolutionist scientist, it is not a theory, but a fact; a truth. When he discovers a new fossilized species, he sets out immediately to find what it evolved from, and what may have evolved from it. He compares it to similar finds from “earlier” periods, and notes the differences--the advancements--and draws a conclusion of what he believes caused the changes over the course of time. He then writes them down in a paper, which if well received, will eventually be adapted into textbooks and taught as fact. Why? Because it’s plain as day:

“How do you know evolution is true?”

“It’s simple. The fossil record clearly shows a progression of change in early species.”

“Really? How do you know it’s not just showing a bunch of different species?”

“The similarities between the older and younger fossils indicate ancestry.”

“How do you know which ones are older?”

“Fossils are commonly dated by the layer of strata in which they are found.”

“How do you know certain layers of rock are so much older than others?”

“Layers of strata were initially dated by the fossils contained. This was later affirmed by radiometric dating.”

“Wait. So you theorized on how old they were, and then found a method to prove it? How do you know your findings weren’t influenced by what you already believed?”

“You’re clearly an idiot. This conversation is over.”

Evolution is true because evolution is true. All the logic one employs in “proving” it is based in a universe where it’s already proven. If you really believe in an all-powerful creator, the theory makes no sense. At all.  

Why would an omnipotent God require millions of years to create the species? How could a God who cannot lie do so, and then tell us a false story of how he did it in 7 days? How could God use natural selection in a world without death? How did species go extinct in a world without death? Why would God make millions of species just to kill them off before Man arrived? Were Neanderthal and Cro-Magnon also made in God’s image? Did the rest of evolving mankind die off to leave only Adam and Eve? Ooh, here’s one: if the fossil record is the product of millions of years, where is the evidence of Noah’s global flood? (A cataclysmic event, said by the Bible to have altered the very landscape of the entire planet less than 5,000 years ago.)

Even if you’re a proponent of the Gap Theory, which uses the story of Satan’s fall to explain (kinda) the age of the earth and the extinction of the dinosaurs in an attempt to “reconcile God and Science”, Darwin’s theory blatantly conflicts with the Bible. How anyone could think they’re compatible is beyond me.

(For my thoughts on radiometric dating, see the comments on my last post)

Evolution can only make sense if the Bible isn’t true, but then, it doesn’t really, does it? If you accept the theory and DON’T believe the Bible, well, I have a few questions for you too.

Hehe

I’m going to skip right over the spontaneous generation of life. I already know they can’t answer that one. This is another example of simply pushing back the question. Some like to push it back even further, and theorize that life was brought to earth from an extraterrestrial source.

That’s right, ladies and gentlemen! This is science! Life on earth all came from one common ancestor which came from...somewhere else...or here...maybe...we’re done, right?

Secular science has no idea where that first spark of life came from. They admit it. If it happened the way they think it might have happened, the mathematical probability is absurd. The simplest one-celled organism is no simple thing, and for it to generate randomly because the conditions are just right? Ha. They don’t even know what life is. But hypothetically, let’s say that it did.

Let’s say that in this primordial soup, where the conditions are just right, lightning strikes (or whatever) and that single-celled organism is born. Let’s call him Freddy.

Freddy’s all alone. Or if not, he’s with a million other Freddies that spawned with him, all swimming around in the soup they call home. It’s nice. It’s warm. There is plenty to eat; Freddy’s happy.

...But Freddy isn’t happy. He doesn’t have a brain, but he knows that if he doesn’t figure out how to reproduce, his species will die!

HOWWWW!?!?!

Not only did Freddy spawn into existence with a fully functioning body, he also is randomly gifted a well-rounded set of instincts! What is to stop that first species from dying out after the first generation? The “force of evolution”, that’s what! That’s totally a real thing!

Seriously, where does the survival instinct come from? Certainly not in this case from generations of being eaten.

If life consists only of randomly assembled bio-circuitry, isn’t it a little too convenient how it was programmed to sustain itself? It seems to me that if life were to simply generate, a far more likely result  would have the organism living only a matter of seconds: unable to metabolize food, or even locomote (move). (Yes, I could have simply said ‘move’ but... leave me alone.)

But let’s say we got past even that.

Luckily, Freddy was able to figure out cellular mitosis just in time, and more Freddies were born, fully capable of reproduction! PARTAY! And all the Freddies were happy!

But Freddy wasn’t happy for long. The landscape of earth was changing, and food was becoming more and more scarce. He would have to adapt to survive...

Ok, let’s just think for a moment. What happens when you uproot a creature, and place it in an environment where it’s not equipped to survive? It adapts, right? Becomes a new species? No? What happens then?

Oh, yeah. It dies.

This is probably the one thing about evolution that puzzles me the most. How do these creatures survive long enough to adapt? For a clearer example, let’s take a look at Freddy’s great-to-the -568th-power grandson, Frankie the fish.

Frankie has a problem. The sea is becoming a hostile place for a fish like him; predators    are everywhere, and it seems every day he shifts lower in the food chain. It’s time for a change. It’s time to push for the high ground. It’s time to push for the DRY ground.

Finally one day, after a serious psych-up session, he finds the courage and throws himself out of the water, and onto the beach.

GASP!

Can’t...breathe!

That is terrible! Obviously this isn’t going to work out right now. It’s time to start lung-growing exercises! Henceforth all of Frankie’s descendants will try to breathe air twice a day until lungs develop!

How does that make any sense? Keep in mind that the adaptation is said to take place over hundreds of thousands if not millions of years. Are we to believe that Frankie suffocated for a million years? And until that first breath of air, Frankie’s grandkids are carrying around an entirely useless organ, and living in the same intolerable conditions.

If Frankie can’t survive without lungs, how could he survive long enough to grow them? And if he can survive, why bother? There’s that force of evolution again. Strange how intelligent it is...

People have run all sorts of negative stimulation test on animals. One of two things happen. One, the animal learns to avoid the painful stimulus, or two, the animal is killed or injured by it. That’s what we’ve seen. That’s science. Animals do adapt to alien environments; they learn to avoid them.

Another example is how bats are believed to have evolved from a rat like creature.

Explain to me how a species that keeps trying to fly survives. Did they just hop around a lot? I dare you to explain to me how a species of rat survives for thousands of years--or even half a year--with its forelegs stretched into 70% of a bat wing! Just think about it.

It’s a funny thing, looking around at all the known animals, alive and extinct. They all look like complete creatures to me.

If I were to ask you to show me a missing link between a fish and a land creature, you might point to a lungfish. It has gills and lungs (Kinda). Naturally, a step between the two. Right?

But here’s the thing: lungfish are still around. Why? Because they’re perfectly suited to the environment they live in. They’re a complete creature, just as likely created by God to live in those conditions as adapted to them.

No, when I ask for a missing link, I want a missing link. I want to see something useless. I want to a half-developed lung. I want to see a half leg-half wing. (And I don’t mean a fully functioning gliding system like that of the flying squirrel) For that matter, show me what human beings are currently evolving! Why can’t I turn half invisible? Where are the signs of my eyes developing the ability to see a greater light spectrum? Why isn’t evolution happening anymore? Is it just that nobody’s uncomfortable enough?

Also, if the environment changed so that frankie would need lungs, what would happen if it changed back? Would he keep evolving them, propelled by the all-knowing force of evolution? Or would they wither away, now unneeded, cancelled as easily as commissioned by adaptation.

Why isn’t this happening everywhere?

Alright, last one. Let’s jump down another 16 million generations to a chimpanzee named...Herman.

Herman is three times stronger, MUCH more agile, and much better protected than Homo Sapiens, which almighty evolution has determined is his goal.

Last question: How do we make sense in evolution?

In a system based on survival of the strongest, why would Herman the Chimp want to become Herman the Human? Why on earth would he start to lose his insulating layer of fur? Why would he sacrifice his low, fast build just to have to duck under tree limbs? Why would evolution teach him to use tools, when his powerful jaws work just fine for all manner of foods? Why lose the incredibly useful opposing digits on his feet? Why sharpen his mind and give him a thirst for understanding? Does understanding aid survival?

Of course. Look at all mankind has accomplished! We’ve absolutely dominated this planet in a way unprecedented. We’ve gained the ability to utterly destroy it.

But how did the blind force of evolution know that? How did it know that making the weakest animal on the planet would make the greatest on the planet?

Tell me if you know!

If you can answer these questions, go ahead. Leave a comment, and tell me all the reasons why I’m wrong. I’d like that. In the meantime, here’s what makes sense to me:

Animals are similar because they have a common creator, not a common ancestor. They’re suited to their environments because they were designed for them.

We are not suited to our environment because we’re not animals.

Any questions?