Near the front, a cute, chubby girl opened her mouth to speak, then stopped.
“Yes, Calla?” Miles coaxed, smiling warmly again.
“I just don’t understand it, I guess. I just don’t see it. I mean, no matter what you do to a dog... it’s still going to be a dog. It’s not going to change.”
Leaning his chair against the back wall, Derek frowned and rolled his eyes dramatically. He closed his notebook and dropped his pen back into his bag, realizing that nothing said over the next few minutes was going to be particularly helpful on an exam.
“You’re right, Calla,” Miles agreed, nodding.
Derek squinting, leaning forward until his chair was back on all four legs.
“Animals do not simply change their behaviour, unless some external source forces them to. It is the one key difference between human beings and animals that we have found. Humans change their behaviour, animals don’t.” He paused, wiping some gook off his glasses before continuing. “Now, those changes are the first steps to evolution. If the change in behaviour results in that particular animal surviving whatever oppresses it, then it will pass on that knowledge to its offspring until many creatures know it. Once the creatures that did not learn this die off, it becomes something that all members of the species inherently know.”
Calla scribbled furiously, the side of her hand black as it rubbed the ink off the page behind it.
“What about that dog?” Derek drawled, calling out from the back of the room. “With the bell?”
“Good point. Excellent,” Miles agreed, pointing at him heartily. “Pavlov’s dog was one of the first experiments in purposefully altering animal behavior. He would ring a bell every day just before feeding his dog. After so long with this routine, the dog would begin to salivate at the sound of the bell alone, even if the food was nowhere in sight. It was a behaviour learned by human machinations, the first steps toward controlling evolution, albeit on a very small scale.”
“What could that be used for, though?” Randy scoffed, smirking as he dusted off his red baseball cap and then placed it back onto his head. “What could controlling drool do?”
“Well, nothing,” Miles admitted, smirking as he nodded his head. “But, it has been attempted successfully with more practical results. In 1993, a scientist named Bill Lishman used a bird’s natural tendency to imprint on the first thing it sees to get a flock of Canada Geese to follow him and his small aircraft from Ontario to Northern Virginia. The geese still follow the same flight pattern to this day on their own, and are now effectively a self-sustaining flock. He used his knowledge of bird instinct of Pavlov’s theories to alter their behaviour, taking them out of the flight path of poachers and predators... effectively changing the outcome of their species as a whole.”
“Cool,” Derek said, smiling. “Crazy that he even thought to do that.”
“‘We can see further than ever, because we stand on the shoulders of giants.’”
“What?”
“It’s a quote. From Albert Einstein. It means that we can accomplish more today because we already know what people before had to work to find out. In our own way, we ourselves are evolving.”
Derek frowned, then grabbed his notebook and got up from his desk. “Can I go to the bathroom?”
Miles frowned, gazing from Derek to the rows of empty chairs in his classroom. “If you must.”
He walked out from between the rows, giving the teacher a small salute before heading for the door.
“How will you ever evolve?” Miles called after him, a wry smile on his face. “If you don’t know what those who came before you found out on their own?”
Derek turned, squinting at the man over his shoulder for a moment. He opened his mouth to say something, then shut it again and left.
Miles frowned, shaking his head as he turned back to the rest of the class. “Now then, can any of you think of any examples where this type of species education has been seen in human history?”
If you’re innocent, you’re hurt, or you’re scared... I’ll be there.
He brought the gun to his head and put first pressure on the trigger.
A shiver ran through him as he felt the metal against the edge of his temple, jerking away instantly and instinctively before settling back down. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled. The sudden rush of air blew a layer of dust off the wall beside him, sending it spinning outward like a miniature tornado. He opened his eyes just in time to see the last of it swirl about, caught in the light streaming in through his bedroom window.
His fingers slipped from their grip on the gun, the skin hot and sweaty against the smooth wood grain of the gun. With an annoyed grunt, he stretched them, feeling the calcium in the joints crack before they resumed their position, index finger poised and ready to fire.
There were no tears. He thought there would have been, had been each and every time he thought about it over the past few weeks. No there was just the grim certainty that came with the realization of an awful truth. The only liquid running down his face was a small dribble of whiskey from one corner of his mouth. He picked up the bottle once more, grabbing for it twice before his fingers actually found it, and brought it to his lips one last time. The putrid brown liquid burned its way down his throat as he let the bottle fall to the floor carelessly, its remnants pushing their way out and soaking into the floor.
He laughed a little, watching as the puddle of alcohol grew slowly, expanding ever outwards until it consumed everything it could.
Like a cancer.
Like grief.
Like him.
