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Last of the Neanderthals

It was a grueling walk home, over winding paths that led to the door of his cave. After a long day of hunting and gathering Günter just wanted to wash the blood off his oak pike, sprawl out across his handmade grass bed, and sleep, but when he got home, a sigh overcame him. The cave next to him was the new home to a family of Homosapiens, and the neighborhood hadn’t been the same since. “The pale devil,” as Günter liked to call him, was a blond hair, blue-eyed threat to his existence. His Neanderthal harem swooned at the man’s fair complexion whenever he sauntered by the cave to pay his respects.

Günter let out a small grumble as he knocked two stones together. A bright fire ignited inside his charcoal smelling abode. What mystical power did the new guy start his fires with? It was probably the same one that captivated Günter’s women. What did they see in him anyway? Sure he had two eyebrows and was taller, but Günter could snap a rock in half, kill a thousand boars in a day, and still be home by noon for brunch. Blond boy over there couldn’t do that. He wouldn’t work up a sweat in his sparkling white buckskin outfit.

Last week, Günter let out a mad howl of laughter while the man whittled away a tree stump and spackled onto it some round thing he kept calling a wheel. It was crazy talk to imply that his new contraption would help him grow all his food instead of killing it out in the wild. “That’d be the day,” Günter always said. He grabbed hold of his brown tunic, threw it over his shoulder, and blew a mighty gust into the fire he just built. It wasn’t hot enough yet.

The new guy for his part loved having a big cave that needed lots of heat to stay warm. Günter never did understand why he liked big caves. If he had kept it small and practical like Günter did, it’d be easier for the little lady to clean. Then she could spend more time drawing water from the cool spring out on the edge of town or something productive. Günter would have to set him straight after dinner.

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