A fictional story on the interiority of the tiger
The air buzzed. Jim tossed himself. The damned bugs were everywhere. It was past midnight. It was a techno rave but nature only. The night was pulsing. It was loud, and surprisingly bright. It was like a city at night. But no, just nature.
A big circular reflective bug landed on his arm. He looked at it. The thing clicked, then it’s legs marched. He wasn’t mesmerized with it. But it was something. He wasn’t in awe with nature in the “oh look how beautiful and serene it is.” He was one with nature in the sense of “run motherfucker.” Hard to really contemplate things in an environment like this.
But he was sleepless. “This sleeplessness is going to hurt me in the morning.” There is no rest here without some dire consequences. You’re either in tune with everything around you or dead. And he was now contemplating. Not a good sign.
Something was up. He felt a breath on the back of his neck and the tickle of a single whisker. It was the jungle tiger. He didn’t flinch. Couldn’t afford to. The thing smelled him. It wasn’t a thing. It was curious, not hungry. They were face to face.
They looked at each other and examined one another, trying to gauge what the other was thinking, trying to see if the other was about to do something.
The tiger opened it’s mouth.
“Am I more like you or am I more like the bug?”
“Why does it matter?”
“I can see you looking at me. I mean it’s different now that I’m talking but before just now, what did you think?”
“Honestly, I’m terrified of you”
“Yeah, but you’re not just afraid. You have an inkling of something else. When you looked into my eyes, what did you see?”
“I saw an inner mind”
“And..”
“So I’m not sure.”
“Why not sure!?” he roared.
“You’re definitely making it easy for me to ascribe some kind of interiority to you.”
“Of course. But really, if you killed me, would it be a crime or would it be morally acceptable?”
“I can’t contemplate this with you. You’re a talking tiger”
“Fine. I’m God speaking through the body of a tiger. Once my spirit leaves this animal, you can kill me.”
“How will I know you left?”
“Trust me, you’ll know.”
“How do I know I’m not dreaming?”
“So it’s ok to kill in your dreams? Why does it matter?”
“If I don’t wake up and get to my senses, I’m dead out here.”
“And why does that matter?”
“I don’t wanna die”
“Because you don’t believe in life after death?”
“What are you trying to convince me of?”
“The afterlife sounds nice, doesn’t it?”
“I don’t know if you’re God or the devil right now.”
The tiger smiled, turned around, and left.
Jim tried to shake himself awake. It didn’t seem to work. “What the hell just happened.” His body was soaked in sweat. “Maybe I ate something poisonous.” He looked around to see if he was hallucinating in a general sense. “Am I dreaming?—I know I’m a little sleepless and delirious but what the hell?”