Alain came into the cave, head down to avoid injurious detail, nursing the fourteenth knee and take rest awhile. Step, step, step, limp, step, step, etc, etc. Oliver sudden a great fright attempted to enter the cave and do damage to Alain. It being too large to fit, it sent ahead its great claw and jaws, with accompanying growl and grr. Alain scampered to the backbone of the cave where a bear’s bed lay unmade.
At the very last part, where one might expect the final countdown, storage shelves, emergency exit or services department, there appeared upon the high rocks a series of crumbly pictures, inscriptions and hieroglyphs, made with rusty colour palette and charcoal hues. Stylised animals rushing about, names scratched and chiseled artfully, with dates, recipes and rude signs. A pedantic map of a city, with a calendar or almanac, dates circled. The hand of an human in silhouettes sprayed, crossing and recrossing and an advert for deodorant pasted over some runic symbols peeping out.
Over all this, playing like a puppet show, the shadows flickered, cast by the desperate struggles of the wild creatures to gain entrance, and the setting sun throwing its light into the cave.
Alain took out a small notebook with a tiny pencil with a tassel at the end, which fitted into the spine of the notebook which he had found in a celebration cracker. He started to copy the symbols but soon thought better and snapped some pics with his telephone which was also a camera, luckily, using magnifier app and contrast enhancement filter to bring out the detail. In portrait at first, then in landfill to cover all eventualities, resized and turned clockwise without prejudice.
Alain lay down twenty centimetres beyond the reach of the ravening sharp bits of the would be cave entrant. He brought forth the pics and inquired, using AI, or Angled Instruments, to find the next clue. Probably something to do with the knights templar and a puzzle box or a fragment of a map to the hiding place of Cortez’s gold. Maybe something written in mirror writing in the back of a novel which opens at a certain page when you drop it. A hidden safe behind the books in a library with the blueprints and the red prints, the thumb prints and floral prints.
Next, rushing off to a different country where the police wear different uniforms. Sneaking about in ancient buildings when you might fall into a tomb with richly carved instructions before the whole place collapses, and the police get upset. Luckily you have the exclusive use of a private plane and dash off to another famous place, but the bad person got there first and has kidnapped your boyfriend and burnt a whole in the map. Luckily you still have the amulet/ ring/key thing which will allow entry. But then, that is stolen as well and a car chase ensues, hundreds of cars are totalled, but no one is injured.
Or you might interpret the palimpsest of human signs and symbols as an expression of humanyness, is there such a quality? No, not really. Which, when distilled into a refreshing morning beverage or late night toddy, just might bring joy to the breakfastee or late night citizen.
Perhaps one might consider letting your evolving AI have a taste of the beverage, so that when it is become a self replicating, self conscious prescence out amongst the stars, it may carry some qualities which we humans hold dear. No chance.
Alternatively, one could paint over the wall to tidy up the place and get some new curtains to give it an homely twist, nice and bright, what a lovely view. What is it? It’s the inside of a ravening creature’s mouth and a couple of giant nostrils with accompanying hot air.
Alain reflected that this discovery constituted a mighty responsibility, which, as a fictious monster, he did not feel the need to shoulder.
The Small Knight had fallen asleep long since, as his parent, the Blue Knight, droned on.
The BK copied the pics of the cave wall to Droptin, where he had a shared file with his partner the BWK or Blue Woman Knight, so that she may use the info in her quest for Everlasting Joy for all.
He pulled up the blanket over the small Knight and carefully taking the sword out of her sleeping hand, put it away in its scabbard by the doorway.
The Guardians of the Cave 