The conservationist turns to the economist and says, “This old growth forest is sustaining the health of everyone’s fresh air.” The lumber businessman turns to the economist and says, “If I chop down that old forest, I’ll sell the lumber and use the money to go on holiday where the air is fresh.” The farmer turns to the economist and says, “If the forest is chopped down, I’ll buy the land and plant potatoes, which grow and make profit, and then I’ll go on holiday where the air is fresh.” The economist looks at the group who are talking at them and says, “I’m not wasting my air listening to you mob for free, it’s $1000 per hour to present your wealth creation ideas to me.”
The conservationist guffaws and slaps their face, then says, “People, if all the forests get chopped down, there won’t be any fresh air at any holiday place.” The lumber businessman, farmer and economist bash the conservationist to death and smile as they agree, “Well now that conservationist is dead there is more fresh air for the lot of us, so let’s apply for rights to chop down the old forest.” In the dark shadows of the old growth forest an indigenous magician smiles whilst they think, “In another thousand or so years all the trees will be cut down and then I won’t have to keep coming back to life as those damned old trees, getting tickled by the critters crawling all over me is so frustrating.” An ant agrees with their ant work mate that it’s all quite perplexing and they both get back to work on aerating their nest.
Back at the secret womans’ site, the three wives of the indigenous magician sit around a small smoking fire. The eldest one, currently living in the youngest body speaks, “This argument has gone on long enough, when we planted that forest all those millennia ago, He told me He preferred a desert there and looks like He’s going to get his way in about a 1000 years.” The oldest looking one nods her head in agreement as she indicates, “Time flies so quickly here on Earth, can we get back to the dreaming now?” The middle aged one, the wisest of the three in these matters speaks, “Not so hastily girls, those ants make a good point, let’s feel about that for a while.”
The Minka Bird perched on a nearby branch sharpens its’ beak, recalling the taste of ant.
by david jarvis spring day 14, 2022.
Tales of the Minka Bird : Old Forest, by david jarvis spring day 14 2022.
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Twenty seven people stand excitedly talking amongst themselves, males, females, all adults, from twenty somethings right through to elders of this suburban area.
They are gathered at a local council park, and amongst the trees and shrubs of this australian landscape is our main characters. Four people, all males.
Two fighters, one referee, and one announcer.
The fighters are both older men, one in his fifties, another in his sixties, they look worn and weathered, one is clearly overweight and moving slower, but still looking ready to fight in his long sleeve shirt. The other is fit, in boxing shorts and without a top, he is the skins, the other is the shirts, these men have no names for this contest is a nameless grudge match.
The announcer steps around holding his face upwards, speaking outwards to the crowd of onlookers. The referee in polo shirt is older than the fighters and looks calm and stern as he examines each fighter’s body for weapons, which are against the rules of this bare fisted fight.
“When you’re ready!” shouts the announcer.
“Ladies and gentlemen of all ages and colours, we have two prize fighters here for you in this august park in the majestic area of Mountain Woofer. On my left side is the esteemed old man, on my right side is the young contender. The old man has fought more battles than any other bare handed, bare knuckled, spitting warrior for a hundred kilometres, he has over come women, dogs, crocodiles, kangaroos and most recently annihilated a wombat with only one rock and one throw of that heavy rock. I present to yourselves – NO ONE!”
The crowd get louder, clapping their hands, raising their fists, shouting out “no one, no one”, the noise of the twenty seven spectators does not echo, it roars and birds squawk from the overhanging gum trees as they launch themselves into the sky, startled into flight.
“People of all prosperities, I present to yourselves, the young contender. This young male has only a few fights under his belt from the local pub, he carries no trophies, his body bares few scars, his pretty boy face has never felt the pain of a broken jaw bone, and he is so pathetic he still has all his teeth. When this young whippersnapper walks down the street, nobody recognises him, he is not worthy to wear the long sleeve shirt of esteem, thus he is shirtless, baring his naked skin for the ladies to enjoy the view of this soft flesh of the YOUNG CONTENDER KNOWN FOREVER MORE AS NO ONE!”
The crowd continue to be loud, they stamp their feet, clap their hands and cry out jeers to welcome the young contender. One woman shouts out raunchily,
“Rip his shorts off too! Make the soft cock fight naked.”
The young contender smiles a sardonic grin, and the referee waves his hands, indicating NO by shaking his head side to side.
The two fighters step up towards the referee who speaks up as the crowd’s noise quietens, for the fight is about to begin.
“I am your referee today gentlemen, please obey all my instructions. If your opponent becomes unconscious, don’t murder him. If your opponent seeks to run away, let the coward run. If you are inclined to stomp the groin whilst he’s down, you are welcome to! Shake hands if you choose to do so.”
The young contender reaches out his left hand to offer to shake the veterans hand, and the old man slaps it away and spits on the ground, clearly steeling himself to the approaching hardship.
The men begin bouncing, shaking their bodies in manly threat displays.
ding ding ding, chimes the time keeper.
The fighters approach each other, moving carefully, snapping their hands forward to get their bodies moving. Left foot forward, left fist forward. They circle each other, and the old man steps in with a quick movement, his right fist snakes out and connects on the cheek of the young contender who smiles as the first cut of the day opens on his fresh face.
“Hit him again!” cries out the horny woman.
The young contender continues smiling as the old man steps backwards, retreating a bit towards the horny woman, the young contenders steps forwards half a step.
The old man steps forward quickly and swings with a left again. The young contender sees it coming, his hands reach out and grab the left forearm of the old man, pulls him forward off balance, and their heads collide as the young man tilts his forehead into the face of the old man, whose nose spilts wide open and immediately begins fountaining blood.
The crowd goes silent, that is an uncommon move they’ve not seen before, no one else has ever grabbed the old man’s forearm when he jabs.
The old man breaks free of the grip by twisting his forearm and pulling down, then rotates around behind the younger contender, and punches him in the back.
Again the crowd get louder. But the young contender is hard, and he rotates himself again, this time dropping down onto one knee using the kidney punch momentum to quicken his rotation, and down on that one knee he punches the old man right in the balls, then pushes him backwards with both hands.
The old mans’ breath exhales hard, the crowd moan in shared pain, and the old man sinks backwards a step and drops downwards onto his butt now at similar head height as the young contender, but about 1 metre away with legs facing towards his opponent.
On his knees the young contender knee walks forward and straddles the old man whom is still falling and grabs the old mans shoulders, head butting him again on the nose. The old man’s face goes blank, his eyes roll backwards but the young contender is still holding his shoulders, and draws him in for another head butt. Mounting the old man the young contender has already won the fight as the old man is unconscious.
Smash. Smash. The young contender is repeatedly smashing his forehead into the nose of the old man whom is now being manipulated at will, by the man on top.
The ref dives between the two and puts his body between the two no names, back facing the young contender, whose eyes notice the ref’s back in his face, lets go of the old man, and stands up, face covered in no one else’s blood.
He looks around at the crowd whom are silent.
He meets the horny womans eyes and pulls down his shorts and grabs his dick in his hand.
“You wanted to see it, here it is!”
The announcer steps up to the young contender.
“Ladies and gentlemen, inside the first round we have a decision, this is NO ONE and he has won the contest by knock out and is now our local council’s new bloody champion. Take a photo ladies, quick before he pulls his shorts back up!”
The camera peels away from the announcers face next to the victorious fighter, towards the womans’ eyes which are clearly looking at the now proud dick held in hand, the camera pans away to discover the ref attending to the old man who is lying down limp and bleeding profusely whilst his head is being cradled.
The crowd roar in the background and the last image is of a little raven watching from its perch on a stone wall nearby.
Little Raven Perched, by david jarvis.
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