Musings…
I wonder if we humans belong to certain very ancient families, like whether all those with blood group O originated from one particular swamp: yet those elite types, say of the AB variety, evolved in an exotic lake set high in some primordial mountain range.
These thoughts run across my poor brain whilst I wrestle with sleeplessness and listen to owls and their prey in the dark hours before dawn.
According to my donor card, my blood group is O, which I have learnt, is the oldest and most common. I reason that that is good if I ever needed to have a transfusion, but worry that the downside may be that as I am rhesus negative, I am less likely to have an abundant supply when I most need it, than are those lucky, O rhesus positive types.
I like the idea of belonging to an ancient family, one that evolved into creatures which are no longer roaming the Earth, yet have left me their genes, the building blocks from which I descend. I imagine those early creatures of my ancestry to be little curious things, animals that must have made their homes in the roots of forest trees, instead of craggy ledges set precariously on some cliff face. I say this because I’m not good at traversing rocky slopes, so comfort myself in the fact that my clumsiness is due to climbing being strictly against my nature.
So in those wee small hours, when sleep still evades me, I wonder where the other blood group species came from. Did they start life in a soup of rotted tree bark hidden beside a tropical lagoon? Or perhaps they evolved in a mess of frozen sludge on the rim of an iceberg. Who knows? And how did they get together to produce gangly creatures like us? No wonder I can’t sleep, my head is full of butterflies, I wonder if they are related to me?
(c) 2024 Pat Barnett
The Story
In “Musings,” we follow the midnight thoughts of someone battling insomnia, pondering the ancient origins of blood types and human evolution. The narrator, with blood type O, imagines their ancestors as curious creatures dwelling in forest roots rather than cliff faces, explaining their own clumsiness on rocky slopes. Through the stillness of night, accompanied by owl calls, they wonder about the origins of other blood groups – perhaps from tropical lagoons or frozen icebergs. The tale weaves a delightful tapestry of evolutionary musings, ending with a whimsical consideration of butterfly relations.
About the Book
“Creatures” is a captivating collection of whimsical tales by Pat Barnett, a Mancunian author who found her voice after a rich life journey from post-war Gorton to the sun-drenched shores of Australia, before settling in picturesque Pickering, North Yorkshire. Each story in this anthology emerged from those peculiar moments when reality shifts just enough to make us wonder “what if?” Drawing from local legends whispered in Yorkshire pubs and childhood memories of Manchester, Pat crafts tales that blur the line between the natural and supernatural. Why not join her on this magical journey through myth and mystery?
