Overheard In A Garden on the Outskirts Of The Celestial Mission of Theta Prime Colony

“Is it true you don’t have a soul?” The little girl asked, absently. “That none of your… people… do?”

The borrowed form smiled warmly. “Are you so sure that YOU have a soul?”

The girl, Netta, gasped. She stopped kneading the red earth and looked up, shocked. “Of course I do! I’m human!”

“Ah,” Bix said, for that was the name the borrowed form had adopted for this particular exercise. “And I’m not.”

She watched the dead, white digits plucking life from lifelessness, expertly transforming clay into loam. “Exactly.”

“So, only humans possess souls?”

Netta thought about it. “Yes, I believe that’s true.”

“You know there is no scientific evidence to prove the existence of a soul, don’t you?”

“That sounds like blasphemy!”

“No, not blasphemy,” Bix offered. “Heresy, I think. If the definition hasn’t changed in the last few years.”

“I don’t think my pap would like you filling my head with your impious blasphemies.”

Bix finally looked up, milky eyes piercing her with acknowledgement. “Does he have to know?”

Netta shuddered. “You want me to lie to my pap?”

“No. I just don’t think you necessarily have to tell him everything you discuss in private conversations. Do you?”

“I never really thought about it like that.”

Bix had resumed the task at hand. Netta pushed her fingers into the red clay, softening and preparing it for the life-giving transformation to follow.

“No. I didn’t think you had. It’s nice to learn something new, isn’t it? I like learning six impossible things before breakfast. That’s from a very old book called Alice Through The Looking Glass.”

Netta shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Bix cocked its head. “You know, Aristotle referred to the soul as a spark of life. I am most definitely alive. Does that then mean I possess a soul?”

“Not according to my pap. He would call your friend a blasphemer.”

“And according to you?”

“I don’t know. I’ll have to think on it.”

“You do that. Thinking is one of the great pleasures of life. Without the ability to think, we might as well be plants.”

Netta dimpled, her kneading rhythm regained. “Now, that’s just silly.”



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