Reborn (1)
A long-missed antelope, old and wounded, staggered into the group's territory. One hind leg wouldn't bear weight properly, and its flank was caked with dried blood. Whether it had been driven out by the herd on the savanna or chased here by a predator, no one could tell. But that didn't matter. The moment it appeared, a thick wave of excitement rippled through the entire group.
Low, ragged breaths. Saliva dripping from mouths. The feverish heat of beasts eyeing prey. Even in bodies still close to monkeys, the instinct for blood and flesh burned clear as day.
“Ah! Ah! Ah!”
The largest and oldest alpha let out a sharp cry. At that signal, every member of the group raised the stones clutched in their hands. And hurled them.
Thud! Thwack! Thud!
The crude stones battered the antelope's flanks, legs, and head mercilessly. The startled beast screamed and wheeled around, but it was too late. Its injured leg failed, and its stumbling body lurched after just two or three steps. In that instant, a larger, sharper stone struck its temple dead-on.
Thwack!
The old antelope's body crumpled sideways. Blood poured from its head, and its faintly twitching legs went limp.
Only then did the group's excitement erupt.
“Whoa-ah! Ah!”
“Woo! Woo-woo!”
Rough cheers exploded, shaking the whole jungle—like beasts celebrating a successful hunt.
One by one, group members descended to the carcass. Their appearance was grotesque: protruding muzzles, flattened skulls, deep wrinkles etched into thick, dark faces. They propped themselves awkwardly on two legs, even clutching personal stones in their armpits as they came down from the trees. Like animals clumsily mimicking humans.
The first to lunge at the body was a stunted individual a handspan smaller than the others. It yanked the stone from its armpit and raised its arm toward the antelope's leg, desperate to tear off even a scrap before the rest arrived.
But “Woo-ah! Woo! Woo!”
The massive alpha, already at its side, bellowed sharply. No, it went further—snatched the stone from the small one's grip and flung it away.
The small one flinched, shoulders hunching reflexively, then backed off without a fight.
And that puny creature was me, right now.
Damn it.
I gritted my teeth. Size was everything, huh? It wasn't like grabbing one bite first would starve anyone.
...Of course, I knew better. In group life, the weakest stepping up first was dangerous. Defy the hierarchy, and it might not end with just a beating.
But I hadn't eaten properly in days—maybe a few grubs at most. My gut had been screaming for a while, and staring at that meat made saliva pool in my mouth.
If I'd been human, I'd have recoiled in horror. The blood-soaked carcass of the old antelope. The primal group snarling around it.
But now? All I could think was how badly I wanted the first bite.
As I retreated, the alpha pulled out its own stone and began cracking open the antelope's skull. The soft, nutrient-rich brain inside was always the leader's prize.
Next came the entrails for the higher-ranking males, then the meat for the females. In the end, scraps like marrow were all that remained for weaklings like me at the bottom—or the young ones.
With the alpha and males starting to gorge, I sighed and turned away. Bipedal walking was possible, but not straight and natural like my human days. My knees stayed slightly bent, my back hunched forward. After a few steps, my legs ached; climbing trees felt far more natural for this body.
Soon I reached a brook where clear water bubbled gently. The face reflected above it never got less alien. Thick black skin, deep wrinkles, protruding muzzle, low flat forehead. No one would mistake it for human—more ape than anything. The quintessential proto-human.
The only oddity? Those eyes gleaming purple.
Professor Park would've lost his mind over this.
I chuckled, leaning to scoop water—when a rustle of leaves sounded behind me.
“Woo-uh, woo.”
An old female with half-gray fur. My mother, who'd birthed this body.
The first time I opened my eyes in it, my heart nearly stopped. A black monkey staring back.
Crude as it sounded—maybe borderline racist—that captured my panic. At first, I thought it was a dream. A nightmare like no other. No language, body not obeying, world too sharp. Scents assaulting me: earth, blood, milk, wet fur—things I'd never notice as human.
So for days, I resisted her milk. It felt like something inside me was being carved away.
But hunger wins. The moment I latched on, I accepted this life. Cry when hungry. Huddle when cold. Relax into her warmth, shrink from strange males. My mind was human, but the body? Pure instinct—still closer to beast than intellect.
“Woo-uh.”
Mother—or the old female—squatted before me. Her rough, thick fingers slowly stroked my shoulder and head. Calluses and old scars covered her fingertips. The touch seemed anything but tender, yet I didn't mind. It felt... familiar.
...And that pissed me off more.
I averted my gaze, peering into the brook. Purple irises. The only ones like this in the group, unnaturally vivid. At first, it terrified me—Am I the freak? Is this body defective?
Time taught me otherwise. These eyes were natural to it. No—mine, like they'd always been.
“Woo-uh. Woo.”
She lowed again, extending something in her hand: a rib bone with a hefty chunk of meat.
Hers, no doubt. Most my age had left the nest or integrated fully, but my early milk refusal left me undersized. She fussed over me more than others.
I took the bone carefully. Blood still dripped from the meat. A sight I'd have fled as human—but now, that coppery scent was more enticing than any spice.
As I stared blankly, she lowed again.
“Woo, woo-uh.”
This body taught me: these cries held little depth. Just raw snippets of feeling or surroundings—no complex, intuitive meaning like modern human speech.
“Woo, woo-uh!”
Simple translation: “Eat. Hungry. Eat to live.”
I heard it endlessly after refusing her milk.
I tore into the meat without hesitation. My teeth weren't built for carnivory, so it was tough—but edible. I grabbed a nearby stone, smashed the bone, and licked out every drop of marrow.
Only then did she turn and climb into the forest, vanishing like nothing happened.
I stared blankly, then at the bone and stone in my hands. That's when I remembered: that bastard alpha had chucked my stone.
Stones mattered here. Weapons, tools, utensils. Professor would've called them Oldowan tools.
Tch. Gotta make a new one.
I could hunt for my old one, but with stone-using groups around, rocks outnumbered dirt here. Finding a good one was harder than making fresh.
With meat in my belly, energy surged. I prowled the brook for a suitable core stone.
The alpha's main job was frontline defense, but it had others—like teaching stone-making.
That surprised me. The brute who menaced other males would gather young ones and demonstrate: picking good cores, striking to flake sharp edges.
Thanks to that, I knew the local spots for prime material.
Crack! Crack!
Too soft...
Clink! Clink! Clink!
Oh, this one's good.
Sound was key. Hard stones made the best. Plenty of chert around—no wonder we settled here.
Core on my knee, I gripped another stone and struck down.
Clink!
A large flake sheared off. I saved it for cutting meat or tough grass.
Another group would've gawked. I was out-flaking our stone-master alpha.
Of course. I'd majored in paleoanthropology, assisted a professor. We all knapped stones ourselves—experimental archaeology was huge in the field. Profs didn't do the grunt work.
Though mine barely topped basic Oldowan. This body limited me.
These hands... too crude.
Stone-knapping needed precise force. But my fingers lacked flexibility, wrists fine control. Early humans didn't cling to Oldowan for a million years out of stupidity—it was hard to advance.
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https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Pierre_taill%C3%A9e_Melka_Kunture_%C3%89thiopie_fond.jpg
Oldowan tool discovered in Ethiopia