Over An Open Fire

The fire crackled, lighting up the campsite. Several sparks flew upwards, getting lost in the darkness. It was early summer and the weather was absolutely perfect. The two campers, a father and son, sat across from each other with the warmth of the fire between them.

"Hey, the meat is going to get burned on one side and raw on the other if you don't turn it.” the father said.

The son reluctantly moved over to the fire and gave the spit a quarter turn. The meat's juice dripped onto the coals, creating a pungent but delicious odor over the area. The smell made the boy's mouth water with anticipation.

Traffic sounds had been long left behind. The father gazed off into the woods and a smile crept across his face as he thought about it. He needed the break from the daily grind, the work commute, his boss breathing down his neck and the ever-growing pile of reports to finish.

"Do you believe those studies that say our ancestors didn't cook their meat?" the boy asked.

"It does seem strange, doesn't it? I suppose there must be some truth to it though, the studies are carefully reviewed for accuracy against all known data before being used. Truth is, I don't know. Why question the past? What does that matter now? We have come a long way since our primitive ancestry."

“That's true Dad. I just don't know if I agree with the idea that our ancestors started out as some kind of primordial ooze that learned how to walk, paint pictures on cave walls and hunt beasts with sharpened sticks then consumed their prey raw...like savages.”

“We all started somewhere, son. I think there's some truth to it. After all, remember how nobody believed in life on other planets? We practically had a war on our hands between the arrogant scientists and religious fanatics.”

They patiently waited for the meat to finish roasting. The skin was getting slightly charred but that's the way they preferred it. The fat crackled and released a heavenly aroma. The boy peered around the darkened treeline that encircled them. “I hope the smell of our cooking doesn't draw any wild animals.”

“I think we'll be alright. Scanner shows nothing large in the vicinity.”

The boy turned the spit again. “You think mom misses us? I mean, you think she's all sad and stuff?”

“Maybe a little. Your mom is tough. She's used to it by now. She knew when she married me that I could be away for weeks at a time. That's the life of an explorer's wife.”

“How long until we get back home, Dad?”

“Well, I suppose we're looking at another week here then three weeks to get back home, of course. We're only 2.3 million light years away. Heck, your Uncle Carl lives further than that.”

"Maybe Earth is not such a bad place after all, huh Dad? Are you going to let the Council know that we could start sending our own down here?”

“Oh, you bet, son. The climate is perfect. The air is rich. Well, it's good enough for our lungs anyway. And there's plenty of food here, too.”

Reaching over the fire, the father used one of his tentacled arms to pull off a piece of roasted meat and tasted it. “Um, I think we're good. It's tender and juicy. Go ahead. Pull it off the fire and let's dig in.”

The two of them pulled pieces of meat off the stick and indulged themselves. They also had a pot of boiling water in which the boy threw some vegetation in that he'd found earlier. After they had finished their dinner they laid back on their sleeping bags, bellies full, fingers and lips greasy and stared at the night sky.

“That was delicious, son. You cook like your mother.”

“It wasn't that hard. All I had to do was gut it, push the skewer through and let the fire do the rest. I could have used some salt though. I mean, you did all the hunting. You were out there for hours before you could find something for us the eat. By the way, what do you call that animal?”

The Dad sat up on one elbow, still picking his teeth. “The scanner called it a 'Human'”.