bicentennial man

It's my bicentennial today.

My descendants are all gathered around me, fixed smiles forced upon their faces as they stare. Most of them have never seen me before. They've heard of me, told their friends about me, but not sat down and looked me in the eye socket. I ring my bell, and they start to sing.

"Happy birthday to you..."

I look down at the table, past my twisted, mended flesh. There was a termite, on its back and twitching, flipping over, kicking viciously at the air as its abdomen struggled to rise and fell again and again. The wings shuddered uselessly.

I took a bite of my birthday sandwich as it suffered, and it reminded me of the one occasion seen my great-nephew Roderick. It was a one and a forty hundred years ago, and he sat upon my knee. His great-great-step grandson is here, and I keep saying how much they look alike. They're both so infantile.