Copycatting Yourself

Phasmida hated being different. She was grateful she looked like a stick. 22.3 inches of her brown and black body would be sprawled out, lying in a tumble of branches looking like parts of a plant. She had even got some lichen-like markings to make her camouflage even more effective. In case a sudden raptor appeared, she would abruptly drop to the ground and lie very still. Thanatosis was truly the best way to keep alive.

Life was peaceful and Phasmida had no complaints about the universe when a disease took over her entire colony. It wasn’t a physical disease, one that would have exterminated their bodies but a mental one. Suddenly, all of Phasmida’s clan wanted to be different. They craved it so desparetaely. Her neighbours, friends, ex-lovers began seeking ways to look unlike themselves.

Some of them dyed their brown bodies in yellow pollen, others plucked flowers and tucked the petals into their joints, a few, very cunning ones found rocks that had iron and rolled in them, till their bodies took on a beautiful russet colour.

Phasmida watched her breed with boredom. She didn’t get their need to assert their individuality. The flip side of all this looking different was that the stick insects became easy targets of predators. Mice, birds and tiny reptiles suddenly began putting on weight. They didn’t have to look hard for food. Those stupid insects in their fabricated, colourful best would stick out like yummy lollipops. For some time, till they ate up all the walking sticks, life was a feast.

Now only Phasmida was left. Luckily for her she didn’t need a male to reproduce. She looked around, saw that she was alone, ho-hummed and dropped her eggs randomly on the floor. They looked like scattered seeds and a hungry animal would never think of gobbling them up. If you asked her whether she missed the romance, she would shrug her bony shoulders and say love is too much work.

Soon tiny nymphs were born. All of them female, all of them exactly like her. They in turn, dropped their eggs and created even more clones. Slowly but surely, the forest became populated with various versions of Phasmida. Every new batch of Phasmida replicas would be taken to the original Phasmida, the one who started it all. She would look at their bright, bored eyes that mirrored her own to the tiniest detail and know that these who came from her, will never want to be anything else.

Moral: To create a world of clones, kill off the different ones.

Phasmida is drawn by the fabulous Bijoy Venugopal. You can find more of his wonderful stuff here bijoyvenugopal.com