Grock ! by John Stacy Worth

When I wrote this story, I was sitting on one of my favorite thinking spots, contemplating points of view. Those who have read it have charged me everything form genius to insane, neither of which I care to affirm or refute. Robert, having read the story commented, "Man, it really moved me." I dedicate this story to my good friend Carey Burkey, my only regret being that there are no pictures to accompany what, by Carey at least, is sure to be a greatly appreciated saga--J.S.W.


Grock came into existence as all of his kind did. The molecules rejected by some greater, larger being coalesced to form his body, layer after layer, until he reached the maximum size allowable by the long tubelike enclosure, which was, for Grock, the womb.

As the last molecule moved into place, Grock acquired sentience and thought; Out. I must get out! But it was not yet time. There was still much space left in the womb, and Grock could not be birthed until that space was completely filled with others of his kind. Brothers and sisters, he might call them, but, for Grock's race, the point was moot, as it was impossible to distinguish between the sexes.

And so, Grock waited. Waited until another was formed behind him, or above. It was hard for Grock to tell, positioned as he was, seeing nothing but the small fleshy aperture, which opened ever so slightly now and then. But never enough to allow passage.

As his siblings congealed within the birthing chamber, Grock felt an added pressure, their weight pushing him closer and closer to the aperture. He also felt pressure from all sides, as the walls of the womb stretched to their limits, swollen now by the numerous occupants. Pressure, pressure, so much that Grock believed that he would die right there in the womb and never see the light of day. And then it happened:

Grock sensed movement in the aperture. Was it? Yes! It was opening! Not just some teasing little expansion as in times past, but a wide dilation, flooding Grock with the open air of the outside world. Out, Grock thought again, I must get out!

Grock felt tiny parts of himself, molecules in fact, take flight from the surface of his body and float out into the air, drifting away on the currents of the outer atmosphere, carried away to new places, introducing themselves to a new world.

My messengers, thought Grock. Announcing to the world that I come. I, Grock, am about to come forth into the world!

The aperture then opened wider than Grock would have ever believed possible, as the walls of the womb tightened around him and his siblings at once, squeezing them out. Grock found himself suddenly suspended, upside down, one end still clinging to the aperture of the womb, the other dangling down, far from it.

Grock heard the sound that would free him. A grunt. A mighty grunt of effort and then he was free.

Free. Falling, tumbling, down, down. And there above, his siblings, tumbling down after, until...

Splash! They all landed in a convoluted mass, immersed at once within clear, sparkling blue waters.

Grock immediately came bobbing back up through the water's surface and looked up into the face of his mother--or his father; Grock couldn't tell, being unable to distinguish between sexes. But one thing he did realize was that he was about to be aborted. Sent away in the same crystal blue waters that had welcomed him from the womb. He wondered how he knew this. Was it an innate knowledge, some sort of instinct bred into his species?

He watched as the creature which had birthed him reached out with a cruel, uncaring hand to push the lever that would send him and his siblings siphoning down and away. As he felt the current swirl about him and then take him under, Grock finally realized the true nature of his species.

I'm a turd, he thought. Nothing but a turd.