Strange Tails

“You have more of them, right?”

“Well, I did, but … ”

“Hmm?”

“I sort of preferred the dinosaurs.”

“And?”

“And … I put the dinosaurs back … and they ate them.”

“All of them?”

“There were only a couple hundred scattered about. Looks like they’d forgotten how to fight big predators. Sorry. There’s a few bits left in a bag if you want them.”

“Never mind, I guess I was reasonably happy with just the little furry things. Shame about the Twinkies, though. Darling, why do we have this ambrosia diet?”

“If you don’t like what I cook then you can damn well cook it yourself.”

“You’re right, dear.” The voice lowered to a whisper. “I say we need more Twinkies. Are you sure you don’t have any more of those gangly bipedal wotnots left over? In backup?”

“Not a sausage.”

“We do.”

“What’s that?”

There was a nervous clearing of a spider throat. It was the guard.

“I said, we do. We have a backup. A breeding pair. On ice. Just in case.”

“How thoughtful. Trying your hands at Gods, eh?”

“Well, no … ”

The father hmm’d. “Well, that aside … shall we put them back on your Earth, Sous?”

“But I just put my dinosaurs in!”

“Oh, right, let me take a look. Ooh yes, I see what you mean, they are rather dramatic. I like the one with the big pointy teeth. Shall I talk to them about sharing your world?”

“They don’t really speak.”

“Thought transmission?”

“They don’t really think either.”

“Then what do they do?”

“Eat each other, mostly.”

“And you think this is appropriate for a school project?” asked the mother.

“No, I quite agree dear.”

“Nur-nur!” taunted Veeshnew.

“Now, sweetie, be nice to your brother. Sous, please remove the pointy-tooth things.”

“Really? Again?”

“I have another rock,” said Veeshnew.

“No throwing stones.”

“Is there some other way?”

“Super-volcano!”

“What have I told you about smoking in your room?”

“I might still have my old supernovae.”

“Dear, you’re really not helping.”

“A flood?”

Momentary silence.

“Could work. Clean at least. We should put down towels.”

“Won’t it sort of wash everything away? Their little buildings and everything?”

“Don’t suppose they’ll need them now—if there’s only two of them.”

“Yes, about that, when you get the hang of it, can you make them some friends? So they can gather together and, you know, start making Twinkies?”

“If you leave them alone long enough they actually make their own friends. In fact, they’re really quite prolific at it.”

“How unsanitary.”

“Agreed. But needs must. So, um, spider-thing?”

“Yes, oh great and wonderful God?”

“Aww bless. Well, spider-thing, we will need your breeding pair after all.”

“Yes your divine worshipfulness.”

“Do they have any memories? Of their home world?”

“Prolonged cryo-sleep isn’t too good for their brains. They may not be as bright as they once were.”

“As long as they look decorative for the diorama, we should be fine. Oh, and remember, they must learn how to make Twinkies.”

“Of course, your omnipotentness.”

“Great, bring them here.”

“At once, your fabulousness.”

“OK, don’t overdo it.”

… One month later …