Mikhail Krasnyansky

A Spermatozoid’s Monologue

If I show up in the so-called high society and loudly say “Hello, I am Spermatozoid,” chances are an awkward silence will ensue, as if I said something improper. Apparently, all these good folks, as small-minded as they are glamorous, will immediately get excited recalling where it is I live and whither I am trying to get. They will start voluptuously imagining how an erect penis making its way into a vagina, and how I am disgorged there in a spasm of their joint bliss… Yeah, they are that kind of people! To be sure, I don’t look as good as all those nice folks: my head is somewhat ridiculous, and my body is too much long, while my countless legs are too mush short. And then there's the tail too. Then again, if I keep my mouth shut, they will not even notice me, because well, good luck having a close look at someone who is just a tenth of a millimeter size. And my mouth will be shut since I don't have tongue, none voice, I have no possibility to made sounds, and I can realize my potential and be heard through a human being only. But to do that, I first need to find a female egg-cell of my dreams, in order to her own genes shining and glittering just as brilliantly as my own. Because really, what good could come out of the union of a mediocre spermаtozoid and lacklustre egg-cell? Gosh, no…

On the other hand, I am bristling with energy of succession. I am all gung-ho ad future and infinity, because I have something this big-headed, stuck-up “in” crowd sorely lacks: my unbelievable GENE POOL! Ha, you may say, everyone has those. They teach that in elementary school. Well, I say, ha yourself! That first-grader of yours, what he has is a single, prepackaged set of genes. Some folks are in luck, they got a good package—you know, all those Mozart, Shakespeare,Da Vinci or Einstein types. But more often than not, the deal is really nothing to write home about, or sucks outright. And then there are real monsters, like Hitler, bin Laden and such. Me, on the other hand, Spermatozoid-at-Large, I do not have to settle for any one schmoe’s meager starvation ration of genes. I have a million—no, billion—different humans in me. If a regular guy is a book, I am the Library of Congress! If that dude is but a single painting on the wall, I am the Metropolitan Museum and the Louvre in one. Behold, for I am Spermatozoid!

But let me tell you, Ladies and Gentlemen, I am worried about the ambiguity of your earthly existence. Indeed, each of you, humans, is but a transient in THIS world. A life is but a flash second. What lies behind is an eternity where you’ve never been. What lies ahead, is an eternity where you’ll never be. Yet, you are running around like crazy for no good reason, eager to have your little instincts and desires satisfied and your inconsequential ambitions and wants granted, constantly proving it to someone that you are worth something, that you are loved and requited.What you do not seem to realize is that the road ahead is terribly short. Always struggling to survive, you have no time or energy left to pursue your dreams. Hardly anyone asks himself or herself what they’ve been born and live for, what is knowable and what isn’t, what is happiness and where did love disappear. Humans tell themselves: “The woods are good for us. We need trees for better health and timber for business. We need the seas and the fish. We will swim in the sea and eat the fish.” But the woods, the sea and the fish need no humans. As sad as it makes me feel—me, the embodiment of the human genome—but no one needs you people.Everything in the world would be just fine without you. As a result, almost each of your personal histories is about how everything inside of you gets old and burns out, disappearing into the blue yonder, and in the end, you are just getting warm near the bonfire in which your dreams incinerate. It just so happens almost with each of you that you haven’t been noticed, that it wasn’t your time. Or, perhaps, there is no such thing as your time at all.

But me, I have this strategic secret that may well lift the veil off of the mystery of human existence and its necessity. Each individual is the proud owner of 25 thousand active genes—out of the total library of some million. Most of the rest of them, i.e. 98%, are the so-called “silent genes” that never manifest themselves in any way. But I know what they really are: they are the human soul genes. These supposedly silent genes contain a coded message from G-d to each of you. But how many of you are capable of hearing the voice of the Creator and decipher His message? And even if you are one—a Spiritual Man marked by G-d, or better yet, a rare Special Man kissed by G-d and blessed with a Talent—can you survive in today’s merciless world? Indeed, to serve the Great Purpose, your drive and your longing must come before the self-preservation instinct.

Yes, I am certain, that the emergence of life on Earth could only have been a product of the Master at work, rather than an accidental meeting in space of nitrogen, carbon, hydrogen and oxygen atoms. G-d created man, so He holds the copyright to his creation. But does the Almighty have any coherent plan for humanity? If He did in fact build the Earth, today that construction site looks pretty abandoned: wars, terrorism, epidemics, floods, tens of millions of children and adults starving while there is a glut of food on the global market; the natural environment is poisoned by human activity. Or perhaps G-d rejects our prayers? Or maybe the quality of His work is not always stellar? Or is it the Devil at work, manufacturing some of the silent genes from that unnatural “dark matter” mined in Far Cosmos and introducing them into the DNA of dictators, terrorists and financiers? Or, G-d forbid, is it that there is no G-d at all, and humans just thought Him up to explain the unexplainable? Because really, what you people call the “truth” is but a frontier beyond which your meager knowledge cannot reach.

But never you mind, I have this great little thing, a gamma-chromosome. It is very short and has a relatively small number of genes in it. But, during fertilization, unlike its other brethren, this chromosome passes genetic markers on to the offspring unchanged, which allows for tracking human mutations back some thousand years. It will continue in this fashion for many thousands of years to come. In other words, we spermatozoa are the embodiment of human genetic history and memory. Which means our gene pool has always been and will always be, like a divine ray of light in the darkness, like a bright star flying through unfathomable curved space-time, holding keys to the secrets of humanity.Therefore, I, Spermatozoid, am a LETTER FROM THE PAST TO THE FUTURE. Which means, anything and everything that has ever happened, is happening or will happen is equally real for me. This is why my genetic memory remembers not just the past, but the future too, and why I know something important about that future: he who is ahead of time will lead the future. And then you, humans, will finally have hope. The future will be yours, although not all of you will share in it. Only those who really, really want it will have it—because at the end of the day, those too scared to take the risk of finding happiness will become the unhappiest.