the last cicada
for seven long years, he lived in the soil, sucking sap. unaware of the burning sun, the bruising hail or the thin blanket of snow. he burrowed slowly through the earth searching for a tap root, his world blind and banal.
unkown to him, some internal clock counted the summers and when his time was up, transformed him from a hideous worm into a hideous adult. but, loud. perhaps the loudest inscect in the world. he needed to be loud, as he had only six weeks to live. only six weeks to fulfil the sole pupose of life - to create more life.
but fortune can be cruel and,instead of turning right towards a cicada disneyland of excitement and thriills, he turned left and into my laundry. A laundry is a difficult place for a cicada - hard tiles, no plants and worst of all, no flirtatious lady cicadas.
outside in the orgiastic garden, cicadas sang, mated and died in their thousands. the females lasting long enough to lay hundreds of eggs in twigs. many would end up with a horrific living death as food for predatory wasps, but enough will live for seven years as subterranean sap-suckers to continue the cycle of life.
the last living cicada crawled slowly from the laundry to the toilet outside my bedroom door and as i lie in the dark he sings, very loudly, to the ghosts of dead lady cicadas. each night his song is shorter, though always as loud. his energy is slowly being used up - he can't eat, he relies on the sugars he has stored. for seven years. but it is all pointless - everyone else is dead. he sits on a copy of cuisine magazne and chirrups for twenty minutes - tomorrow eighteen. soon - the dark silence of perpetual winter.
OH! TURNIP THAT IS SO VERY, VERY SAD.UNREQUITED LOVE AT ITS VERY WORST. But thank you for posting it. Love BA x
Very interesting, Turnip.
thanks BA and EM
part two - bring me the head of jimmy the cicada
jimmy 'the cicada' hendrix -THE loudest insect in the world has moved from the toilet to my bedroom. he seems to have acquired a new lease of life with the move.
the cicada must die.
its him or me - I'm desperate for a good night' sleep.
so let the cicada hunt begin. for those unfamiliar wih hunting chicadas - it is very difficult. they are noisy, but pitched so variously its hard to know exactly where its coming from.
from the insect's point of view it is the perfect example of the Darwinian paradox of natural versus sexual selection: if the cicada stays silent he will survive, but unless he makes a noise he won't be sexually attractive. So the cicada compromises between silence and sound.
the result is he is eventually squashed by a copy of 'best ever smoothies and juices'. terribly appropriate.
and so the last cicada is liquidated and summer is really over. the elms (remember them?) are turning gold and the temperature drops to a chilly 26c. and the great wheel of fortuna turns again.
Briliant, thought proviking, insightful, but enough about me.
Darwins theory of relativity at its finest. Feeling Peakie award material. It had everything, psychological murder mystery of pure vintage Hitchcock-y-nessness, sausy-nessness of a Mills-&-Boon (Played by Michael Eliphink) ... yawn I'm tired ...
... yawn just woke up ... Does that button say preview or post, I've not got me readers on, OH well, hope i didnt swear ...