A Day In The Life of A Neanderthal
The sun’s rays seethe into our cave to tell the story of a new day. Lashing her whip of light she tugs onto my leg and pulls me awake from my slumber. Groaning in a language indistinguishable even to my companions, I reluctantly pull myself from the deep stone beneath me that has steadily begun to warm up at morning’s sight. As I step toward the ground beyond the shelter, a cold breeze rushes in and brushes against my own shoulder. I do not shiver. The cold is something my people have grown accustomed to in our tribe.
It’s not a very large group at all. There have been rumors of the existence of others just like us, but somehow different in a peculiar way; more flawed and weak compared to our massive and strong build of perfection. I pity them, yet myself at the same time. I’ve known the men I stand with for all my life, but still an unsettling spark of curiosity surges through my veins in search of an escape or refuge for paradise from this loathsome and lonely isolation I’m selfish to feel. What lies beyond the mellow line cast by the milky sun during sunset? I can neither express myself nor cry out in anguish to my people. They would never understand, yet I must follow what has been set before me. I close my eyes and sigh as wisps of more air pass through the nape of my neck luring me out of the dark.
By now, the others have awoken as well and now cluster close together. Normally, we would have all gone out to the wilderness to hunt, but someone has passed, a young male while wrestling a beast. It is a great shame. I look up above, shielding my eyes from the sun and see a flock of feathered birds flapping their wings in unison, almost as if they are beckoning me to pierce them with stone into their very hearts. I shake off this fantasy and see that already women have begun to gather tiny flowers from nearby bushes, while the men start to dig with ambition for a deep trench. Minutes pass as I stand back and watch as the ground begins to melt away. Blinking once more, I hurry along to join them tossing dirt around incoherently across the surrounding surface.
Hours later, we manage to utilize our stone tools, each handcrafted well and begin our hunt. Finally once the stars have emerged, it is pronounced night. The deceased has been put to rest with small yellow petals and flowers adorning the burial site. I am pleased. The soft consistent breeze continues. Children play music from bones flutes, handcrafted the same as the stone from their fathers and dance around the fire spluttering noises I do not know. The sound is soothing to my ears, while the atmosphere remains calm. I roast my prize bird in peace, plucking the feathers off my weapon and wiping it clean. Women present other plants as well to accompany the bird. Content as I am, there exists still that yearning for something more. An expression perhaps that remains undiscovered. ◊
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