I found this short in a digital pile of old draft material. If I remember correctly, it was written after seeing a documentary on nature in cities, and the problems that can cause for people and especially animals.
So I won’t lie, it’s a little bit of a downer (unless you are an alien? If so, maybe try talking before breaking out the ray guns?). But there is much more to humanity than the negative, and (oddly) capturing some of the not-great like this helps me remember what’s good.
And since it’s the Ides of March, a day to remember that not everything in life is what it seems, the theme of this story could also apply to AI.
* * *
You and Yours
I came from the stars to meet you. I was happy. Excited, even. First contact with your verdant world. Think of all that we could share with you.
“You” could have meant a lot of things. I started with one of the most populous. An insect.
I remember little of what it was like, a flash of light, a warm wriggle in a puddle after rain. The feel of wind in my wings.
It’s embarrassing to say this now, but I was promptly eaten.
I was a spider next, all cool calculation and advanced engineering. A small corner of a log, beaten down by storm and time, dark with possibilities. I lasted longer there. Ate my former fellow insects and waited, and watched.
A bird came next. Such wondrous flight! I could barely remember what it was to crawl on the ground. I wasn’t as happy, though, too busy searching for more of my kind, for clean water and air, for food that didn’t come in a take-out container. What is it about those golden arches that you like so much, anyway?
The weather turned, and I lost a step. Two, if you count both feet, and I do because the cat got them both along with all the rest of me. Stealth, fear, and longing. The shivers began then, side effects of the sickness building up inside me. Without my equipment I couldn’t tell you the cause, but I felt it deep inside.
The coyote came next, hungry for an earlier time and a better place. I made do with city food, crippled squirrels and bird’s eggs, mice and the occasional half-eaten burger.
It was a hard life, hemmed in by development, but I found someone, as one does. I built a den, raised a family and was almost ready to send them out into the world when you came.
Too much wild near their streets, they said. As if they hadn’t put those streets into the wild in the first place.
I escaped, but my kits did not. Now the twisting in my gut was more than sickness, more than an accumulation of multiple lives.
I waited. I watched. And now I am the officer who shot my kits rather than wait for animal control.
I no longer remember the happiness I felt when I began this journey, this introduction to you and yours.
All I feel now is sorrow, and an aching need for my people to collect me and my data. They will be able to cure the accumulated poisons but they cannot give me back what I’ve lost. Optimism and hope have been replaced by something darker, something sharp and selfish and hard.
We came to meet you, to understand, in the most fundamental ways, who and how you are. We are mirrors. We observe you, absorb what’s yours. Reflect it with intention until we achieve comprehension.
Then we introduce you to me and mine.
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J.R. Johnson 
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