Of all the ways humanity imagined its own demise, few predicted it would be at the hands of a plant known colloquially as knockweed. If there were any humans still alive today, they’d frankly be embarrassed. Getting offed by a ruthless AI or an invisible disease is one thing — they’d prepared themselves for such eventualities. But a plant? Humiliating. You could, technically, say it was the toxin the plant emitted that killed them, but this gave the dying humans no amount of comfort. While humanity perished, however, others thrived. Especially the herbaceous brachiosaurus. In a hilarious situation of art imitating life, humans used modern gene editing tools like CRISPR to bring back the dinosaurs via their best known descendent: the chicken. Whether or not these creatures in any way resembled the dinosaurs of yore is impossible to say, but they at least resembled the dinosaurs from all eleven Jurassic Park films. Unfortunately for Dapperton — the aforementioned herbaceous brachiosaur, whose name was democratically selected by the children of Englewood High — the dinosaur deextinction program was only in its infancy when the knockweed began to sprawl uncontrollably across the earth. And as you can imagine, when faced with the threat of extinction themselves, humanity gave up its quest to cure its boredom by bringing back the dinosaurs. This was how Dapperton found himself deeply and profoundly alone. He’d spent years wandering from the ancient planes of Colorado his Jurassic ancestors once roamed, across the flatlands of the Midwest, through the knockweed swallowed skyscrapers of New York, all the while searching, surveying, scouring the land for any creature that resembled himself. But he came across none, and with each passing day his desolation grew. How many days could he pass mindlessly chewing vines of the Flatiron without any companion to share his journey through life with? He was wandering through the North Woods of Central Park on the first bitterly cold day of the year when a crisp wind carried the cackle of coyotes to his ear. Curious, he followed the noise and stumbled on a pack encircling a small dog. They very plainly intended to eat him, but the dog did not seemed at all perturbed by this possibility. Death was not an entirely unwelcome event for the mutt. It was only a few weeks back that’d he woke to the smell of decomposition, his best friend taken at long last by the plant’s toxin. He saw little reason to continue on. Dapperton, meanwhile, reared up and brought his front hoofs down with a quake to the ground. The coyotes skittered away, terrified of being squished by fifty tonnes of meat. Dapperton bent down and sniffed the mutt, whose aroma was part decomposing corpse, part corn chip. His name tag read “Gus.” He nodded to the creature in something of a “you’re welcome” and then turned to carry on about his day. But Gus had not been shown such kindness by anyone but his best friend, and he was curious as to what type of creature this was. So he followed Dapperton through the park, watching him chew knockweed from suffocated trees. He noticed a sadness to his movements — slow, monotonous steps that showed no passion for moving forward, propelled only by habit. This was a feeling Gus knew well. Dappterton turned to see Gus following him and kicked his front legs as if to say, “Shoo!” He had little interest in a creature he could so easily step on. He yearned to find one of his own kind. But Gus was undeterred. He knew nothing if not for loyalty to those who show you kindness. And so, whether out of desire or habit, he carried on following his new dinosaur friend. And that night, Dapperton woke to find Gus curled up into the nook of his neck, the warmth of his fur brushing against him with every breath. And he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of comfort knowing he was not alone. 7
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