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by Chama C. Fox - Jan 20, 2007 Only traces remain: the faint pinging of machines turned off for the night; the organic scent of science’s greatest medical triumphs lingering in the cool air; a dark expanse of linoleum, starkly cut by one single rectangle of yellow light from an open door. Therein rests the shadow of a man, an ordinary shadow, and yet it lies. This is not a man. ... They ridiculed his feelings, sneered at his dreams, punished him for shirking their preordained path of life. They ostracised him from their community when he questioned their habits. After all, if he didn't want to be a man like them, why should they treat him like one? God had created man in his image, but somewhere along the road, the mirror had shattered. Others quoted: “Man is the measure of all things”, implying that the only laws that applied were those made by man, the thinking, rational being in a world filled with dumb beasts. Yet, the people who self-righteously blurted this out time and again were hardly philosophers. They never stopped to think about this, not even reflecting upon the crucial question: “...but what is the measure of man?” All the wisdom the world had to offer helped not at all. Priests, politicians, teachers, scientists... they all said their bit and then went back into the grey mass of people, with little more power over their lives than ants. They called it life, yet what they lived was bits and pieces of a pattern that repeated again and again. If the difference between man and beast was that man could decide about his future, there was but one answer... ... The shadow moves. A naked foot stumbles forward, a hesitant, shivering step on a journey whose final part has just begun. The other foot follows, and then the first again, faster and faster. He's running now; running along the dark corridor toward a light only he can see. He's finally made his decision. No longer will he be one in a crowd of soulless, thoughtless drones, a prisoner of neurotic conventions and unwritten laws, held back by the fears of others. For the first time in his life, he's managed to see what they can't see; what they won't see. With a smile, he takes the final step and opens the door. ... A hospital bed stands alone in the twilight, resting on a dark linoleum floor. Only a rectangle of pale sunlight from a nearby window disturbs its monotony. A paw is lowered from the bed, shaking with the clumsy effort of movement; then another. Shuffling slowly along the floor, he makes his way to the window, the new tail trailing uselessly, as he hasn't learned how to use it yet. Silhouetted against the window is an anthropomorphic feline figure, no longer human, yet looking out over the streets with new-found confidence. This is not a dumb beast of burden, stuck in the grinding rut laid out by an indifferent society. This is a man! |