The Squirrel and the Ice Chest

The Squirrel and the Ice Chest
by Jace Daniel (b. 1969)

There once was a squirrel who lived in a tree deep in the forest, far away from civilization. The only other creatures he’d ever seen were his indigenous neighbors, like the free butterflies, the the busy rabbits, the curious owls, and, of course, the dangerous foxes.

One morning the squirrel was out looking for nuts when he stumbled upon an curious object that defied explanation. It was massive, like a huge rectangular walnut, large enough to contain many squirrels, and made from a foreign substance he’d never seen. The object was two-tone; the top half was white, the bottom half was bright color that could only be described as the color of berries. A bizarre logo was emblazoned on the side that read igloo.

“What the hell?” the squirrel thought. “This is the most mind-blowing object I’ve ever seen. I need to go tell everybody about it.”

Then a raccoon walked up.

“Good morning,” the raccoon said.

“Good morning. What do you make of this? It’s unlike anything I’ve ever imagined.”

“Oh, yeah, that,” the raccoon said. “That’s an object from a long, long, long time ago.”

“Who made it?”

“We did,” the raccoon said. “The forest animals.”

“We did? How?”

“We must have had special tools back then.”

“How long did it take to make?” the squirrel asked.

“Probably a pretty long time.”

“What was it used for?”

“Hard to say, exactly. But we think they probably buried the most important forest animals in it.”

“Why would they do that?” the squirrel asked.

“Because forest animals are the most supreme creatures in the universe.”

“That makes no sense to me,” the squirrel said. “Hey, there’s a badger. Let’s ask him what he thinks.”

The squirrel beckoned a nearby badger, who ran up and joined them at the curious object.

“Good morning,” the badger said.

“What do you make of this?” the squirrel asked, pointing to the object.

“Ah, yes, that,” the badger said. “Isn’t it magnificent?”

“Who made it?” the squirrel asked.

“The gods, of course,” the badger said. “I suppose.”

“The gods?”

“That’s what I believe,” the badger said.

“Why do you believe that?”

“Because it’s what was told to me.”

“What did the gods use it for?” the squirrel asked.

“Probably godly stuff,” the badger said. “We can’t really know, but we know anyway. We figure the gods probably materialized from nothing, came down from the clouds in a ball of fire, did what they had to do, and then disappeared into thin air.”

“Wha?” The squirrel didn’t follow.

“Wha?” The raccoon didn’t follow either.

“They left this object for us as a gift,” the badger explained. “Something for us to remember them by. As a reminder to worship them.”

“Why would they want us to remember them?” the squirrel asked. “Why would they even care?”

“Because,” the badger explained. “Forest animals are the most supreme creatures in the universe. Besides the gods, of course.”

“That makes no sense to me,” the squirrel said. “Hey, there’s a bear. Let’s ask him what he thinks.”

The squirrel beckoned a nearby bear, who lumbered up and joined them at the curious object.

“Good morning,” the bear said.

“What do you make of this?” the squirrel asked, pointing to the object.

“Doesn’t matter,” the bear said. “Who cares? I’m a bear. I’ll never know, so it must be nothing.”

The bear slapped the object with his claw, tipping it on its side, the white top of the object falling open. Out spilled a flood of water and four curious cylindrical objects made from a shiny material the animals had never seen. Each cylindrical object was covered with black, white, and more of that berry color, along with a bizarre logo emblazoned on the side that read Budweiser.

“Holy fucknuts!” the squirrel screamed. “This changes everything about what we know about our world, doesn’t it?”

“What’s the big deal?” the raccoon said.

“Don’t make a mountain out of a molehill,” the badger offered.

“No!” the squirrel said. “Don’t you guys see? There’s more to the universe than the forest! There’s more going on here than just us!”

“Prove it,” the raccoon said. “If a forest animal can’t prove it, it can’t be true.”

“Have faith,” the badger echoed. “Unless this all has something to do with forest animals, it can’t be true.”

“You’re missing the point!” the squirrel said. “Maybe forest animals aren’t the only creatures in the universe! Is it not possible that there’s something intelligent outside of these woods? Something perhaps even more intelligent than us? Something that, I don’t know, came into the forest for whatever reason, used this object for something, did something with these cylinders, and then just up and left? Leaving it all behind? Like, you know, maybe they didn’t want to haul it back? Or, hell, maybe they simply forgot it. I don’t know. But that ain’t really the point. IS IT NOT POSSIBLE THAT SOMETHING BIGGER THAN US LEFT THIS SHIT HERE?”

“Not possible,” the raccoon said. “Not until I see the evidence.”

“Not possible,” the badger said. “Not if you have faith that what you believe is true.”

And with that, the bear ate the raccoon and the badger.