A Whale meets a Hole

A pedestrian, executive, and a whale.

A whale fell from the sky and landed with a splat on the cement, fish blood and guts spewing out in all directions. Pedestrians screamed and ran to get out of the way, terrified, and somewhat confused, at what had just happened. The first and second floor windows of the surrounding skyscrapers were full of red splotches and a couple of the windows were broken.

Meanwhile, the drivers of the cars in the middle of the road when the large mammal had landed were struggling to get out of their now quite deformed vehicles. Fortunately, whales aren’t all that dense, so no one was severely injured.

Why a whale, of all things? That’s what we’re all asking right now. Couldn’t the thing falling out of the sky have been an airplane wing or something? Though perhaps more dangerous, at least it would make more sense than a whale. I mean, a whale falling out of the sky into the downtown of a city is absolutely absurd.

But that’s what happened, so we’re all (myself included) going to have to deal with that fact.

Imagine you saw a whale falling out of the sky. I know what I would do. I’d probably see it, look away, do a double take, rub my eyes, yell “There’s a whale falling out of the sky!” and run. Everyone around me would likely proceed to look at me weird, quickly glance up, glance away, do a double take, rub their eyes, scream, then dash after me once they realized I was telling the truth.

Now imagine you’re an executive standing at the top corner office of a skyscraper where the incident is about to happen, disdainfully watching the measly peasants walk about the streets below. You smirk and begin to turn back to your job of admiring the gold-plated toilet in your personal 1500 square foot bathroom. But then you hear screams. You frown and turn your head to look out the window. Suddenly, a massive gray mass grazes your corner office, smearing the perfectly clear glass. A large thump is heard dozens of stories below you.

“Hmm,” you say, “I wonder what that is. It almost looks like a large mammal which lives in the sea and makes echoing sounds through the water to communicate just landed square in the center of downtown. How unusual.”

Then, of course, you go back to contemplating the intricate designs on the shiny seat of your loo.

But what about the whale? I never mentioned this, but it turns out that it was actually alive while it was falling. How do you think it felt as it fell? Well, it was likely the whale’s first time skydiving. I’ve always wanted to go skydiving; gliding through the air, free from all the restraints of the ground, wind in my face, adrenaline pumping—though there’s a chance, I suppose, that the whale never had that desire.

Regardless, even though it was plummeting to its death, I would guess the sea creature had some sense of happiness. Joy, even. A sense of freedom from the clutches of water pressure, an exhilarating burst of neurochemicals it had never felt to such an extent prior. Once, as a child, it had jumped out of the water; but that was nothing compared to this.

Before him stretched a landscape extending dozens of miles in every direction; tall, metal things below him, trees scattered about from here to there. Ants patrolling between the large metal things, and beetles zooming along as well. What a sight to take in.

Of course, until it finally, and rather quickly, reached its destination.

Now take a breath in. Then breath out.

Ask yourself: Am I the pedestrian, the executive, or the whale?