Odd Spark

I’m Odd, always have been. It’s my name and my nature. My tribe is at the bleeding edge of the stone age. Our prey and our enemies are more on the bleeding edge in a literal sense. Sharp stones driven into wood, that’s our thing.

            More It’s than mine. It is the leader of our tribe. Not because he’s the smartest. Because he’s the biggest. His club is heavier and has more sharpened pieces of flint driven into it.

            I hate him. He mates with Mos, who I’ve always liked. She played with me when we were young but then It grew tall and strong and I… didn’t.

            It hits me a lot. He hits everyone a lot. Even Mos. Iris tells me to leave Mos alone. Iris says I should stay away from It. I think that’s what she’s saying. We don’t have much language yet. You’re just a thought in my head but it’s nice to have some intelligent conversation so thank you for being here.

I feel rage seeing It and Mos at it like rabbits again. That’s not fair, rabbits are cute and quiet. When It and Mos have sex it’s loud and I want to beat myself to death with my own club.

            I storm off out of the cave instead of watching like the others. It is a dark night, and I shouldn’t leave the safety of the group, but the moon is out.

            Wolves are howling over the pines that cover the whole world. I swing my club about in the dark like It when he doesn’t understand something. That’s most of the time.

            I sit down on a log and rub the handle of my club against it again and again. It’s soothing to let out my aggression. More than that, it is safe. I’ve tried to fight the mighty It. He has fists like boulders. Being punched by him is running full force into a mountain.

            Eventually I felt the warmth.

            Then I smell the smell of a tree struck by lightning.

            The bark catches fire and I scream and fall back off the log.

            I never claimed to be brave. I don’t have to pretend to you. You are me. We are one. That basically means you’re a coward as well. I’m not judging you, am I?

            I feel the handle of the club and burn my finger. My cry is less mighty than a wolf in every conceivable way.

            I find another stick by the blue light of the moon. I don’t like my club burning me. The club has already saved me from a wild boar. The club and It. He’s useful sometimes.

            I have a new thing. It’s hot, very hot and it glows. It is beautiful. The heat and majesty of the sun held on a stick in my hands. I call it fire. I imagine the long-lost genius who smashed flint into sharp slivers and drove it into a stick did the same. Presumably the difference between a genius and an idiot is how often accidents turn into inventions.

            When It has an accident, the cave stinks. Stupid giant.

I make fire again. I marvel at its beauty. I stare closely at the flame. I feel the heat like a midday summer sun on my face in the dead of night. I see the world in its orange glow.

            I burn myself again.

            Discovery is trial and error.

            Error is pain.

I practice with my new power until the sun rises. It is the father of my invention. The flame which had been so mighty in the darkness is a pale reflection of the mighty sun.

            I am still mesmerised.

            They find me.

            My tribe are in awe of the miracle I hold.

            It wants my fire. It is used to getting what he wants. He tries to take it from me, so I advance on him with it. I hold the fire in his face and tell them all fire is mine. Not theirs. I’m not going to hand it over.

            It trips me.

            He punches me.

            Day turns to night, for me.

I wake with my whole tribe staring at me. In a circle. It’s scary, creepy. Usually, they ignore me. Not now.

            They nudge at the black remains of the stick I set on fire. They coax me, bribe me. I don’t mind that. I’m not the runt anymore. I have what they want, and they kiss my feet for it.

            I’m not falling for it. When I tell them how to make fire, I’m right back to the bottom of the pecking order.

            They hand me sticks, all of them. Sticks start to pile up around me. It isn’t getting sticks. He’s glaring at me. I’m beating him at something. He can’t understand that concept. He never losses. Deep inside the matted beard and the hair, his eyes are searching for an answer. He tried fists but that didn’t work. He knows if he kills me, he’ll never know.

            I can’t hold back. They plead and I can’t hide it forever. I take a stick and start rubbing it between my hands. They all crowd closer, eager to see the magic. They smile.

            Then I realise my power, I’m the teacher.

            I give them all a stick and show them, get them to copy me. I encourage. I praise. Even It has a smile on his face. Smoke starts to wisp through the air, and I can smell the burning. I cheer them on as I make my own flame.

            It’s not like the first time. I get a glowing end on the stick instead of a flame. It’s so beautiful I don’t mind. One of them touches it and screams. They don’t understand. Neither do I. Fire has only been in our power for mere hours. There is so much to learn.

            I give up on stealing Mos away from It. Iris is my mate. She is smart. Her eyes reflecting the orange glow of my magic are twin suns. Her laugh is sunrise. Her smile is hope. Iris can keep a fire going. The others put it out in no time. We master the fire together.

            A flame is beauty, heat, light, and pain. Fire is mine, and I have given it to all of my people.