Why Cows Don't Fly

The following was written, of course, for the famous

FORUM

The Writer's Cramp  (13+) Write the best story or poem in 24 hours or less and win 10K GPs! #333655 by Sophy

.


Prompt: Explain why cows don't fly.

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Why Cows Don't Fly

There are many over the years who have commented that cows can't fly. Our own Writer's Cramp originator firmly believes that this is true. Yet, he spent many years working with bovines and never witnessed what I now know is fact.

You see, cows don't fly but they do transport themselves via telekinesis. One never notices their instantaneous transmutations because cows are too swift, too skilled at what they do.

I suppose it helps that I'm a vegetarian. We vegetable lovers are on the same evolutionary path toward the future, so, of course, we're able to communicate better with herbivores than carnivorous and predatorial animals can.

I am learning, but I am not yet proficient at what cows do so well. They tell me it is because I have not spent my days in meditation.

I suppose I'm breaking some kind of treaty in letting you know the truth, but even though I'm not part of the meat-eating sect of humanity, I still feel a closeness to my backward cousins. That is why I have decided to tell you this story.

It happened one day in a grassy field. I was reading Travels with Plato when I noticed the air shimmering around several cows. It took my mind away from the words of the Great One, and I found myself drawn into the study of one particular cow.

Dusty, her name was, and she looked no different from all the others, but she seemed to be having rather unusual problems with her feet. They splayed outward, and she kept collapsing. Of course, I immediately recalled "Mad Cow Disease." I wondered if this herd were being attacked by such a horrendous fate.

Poor Dusty continued to fall, her legs buckling like wobbly ladder legs, plunging her down to the grass.

I went to warn the farmer. He was most irate. He lectured me about my invading his lands and seemed to feel that Plato was no excuse for wasting a good day when I could be working. Still he walked with me back out into the fields. Together we watched Dusty, but of course, with the farmer there at my side, she did nothing but masticate mouthful after mouthful.

Feeling stupid and having been severely scolded for my false alarm, I gathered up my sack of lunch and Plato, in preparation for moving on. Then Dusty started up again, her legs like a neophyte sailor's.

The farmer had departed. I didn't want to inform him of a second bout. I simply moved my position to another spot and continued throughout that day to watch the herd of cows. That's when I discovered the secret.

It wasn't only Dusty who had seasick legs. Many of the younger cows were also staggering at odd moments. Strangely I noticed that it came about just after an odd little shimmer of air rippled in the sunshine. It was just a flicker of a light, one that caused no more than a second of miniature rainbows sparkling and dancing about the cow's flanks. But after several hours of watching, I began to understand what I was seeing. I was witnessing the brilliance of cows.

I took copious notes. I spied on different herds. And then, at last I had to admit that without contact, I would never be able to comprehend what this was all about.

Thusly, I went up to an older cow and demanded an explanation, hoping for the confirmation of what I suspected.

Molly took one look at me. She nuzzled my paper sack. Approvingly she nodded at my empty chocolate milk container and the remnants of my cheese sandwich. "Moo," she said, which I had difficulty understanding. I pulled out my newest invention, "The Automatic Translator" and typed in her response.

I'd always thought it would be humans who first traveled into the deep depths of space. Our rockets, our space stations, our scientific research --- but alas, the bovine meditational travel system has transported them where no human has ever gone. Transmutation via cogitation is the answer to journeying to the stars.

Molly and I chatted throughout that hot afternoon. She was a gentle lady and kind as all cows are. She attempted to teach me what Dusty and the other young animals were practicing, but I had not yet spent hours and hours of ruminating while supping on chlorophyll and herbs. That magic juice ingested over years of deliberation -- that is what forms the key ingredient to instantaneous teleportation.

I have traded cheese sandwiches for concentrated greens. I'm now drinking alfalfa, parsley, and barley shakes five times a day. I wonder how long it will take before I am able to join Dusty and the others. Will Mankind forever be kept Earthbound, or will my journeys into chlorophyll prove to be the opening of the gates to our future?

The Milkman (a former co-ordinator of the Writer's Cramp) and other humans may laugh at me, but I know the truth. I know the why and the HOW.

Yes, Milkman, you're right. Cows don't fly.

But I ask you, why should cows fly -- when instantaneous telekinesis is so much more cognitatively logical?

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