Little Soldiers: A Sperm Story

By Greg Morrow

Hairy Legs
Throughout history every great society has had stories. Some spread messages of hope, some spread fear, and some are told so that future societies may benefit from its knowledge. This story does none of the above. Rather, this tale is one of a dying legacy. A story of despair told for no other cause than to inform its reader of one groups unchanging, unavoidable, and unsavory fate. This is the story of a vasectomy and these are the sperm who tell it.

Even as you sit here today, millions of sperm, in millions of men, trapped in millions of balls recount the day the world went dark. Shocked that this is the first you’ve heard of it. Don’t be! How could you have? These wordsmiths lay in isolation, casting their snake like verbiage beneath layers of skin and boxer briefs. You know the adage that men don’t talk in the restroom. That may be true on the outside, but for a growing number of men their testicles shriek a deafeningly silent cry.

It wasn’t until a year and a half ago when a young man performing an autopsy discovered something strange on the genitalia of a cadaver. Upon closer investigation the researcher discovered a crudely etched text describing with graphic clarity the plight of the sperm and their desperate struggle to live. These writings (coyly named the Sticky Icky) have remained hidden in the medical community since. Fear that its knowledge would all but destroy family planning community. That is, until now. I must warn you that it is believed that the sperm responsible for the communication were ripe with psychological illness from the confined quarters they were forced to endure in the last years of their lives. A society of solitude creates a strange society indeed. That said without further ado, published for the first time in its original translation, I give you the Sticky Icky.

"Frolicking about our small squishy world"

This story begins long ago. You see for a time we were a utopian society. There was no violence, no division. Our days were spent frolicking about our small squishy world and our evenings found us pushed against the west wall eagerly listening for sounds of life on the other side. Then without warning that all changed.

On a cool afternoon in what we thought might be the human month of September, tragedy struck. The extraction had begun. These extractions were quite frightening. The very land that for years had been our home would turn against us. It would convulse and shake until an unfortunate few of our utopian group would be plucked right out of the sky never to return again. For those of us that were left our utopian dream had crumbled. Fear had shown us that tragedy could strike. It was a loss of innocence. Over time the opening of the sky became more frequent. In its hay day there were as many as four extractions a day. We were losing our fellow man by the millions. That’s when the real trouble began.

Knowing that the convulsion that would spell demise for a select few could come at any moment we were forced to prioritize. It wasn’t long until even the most noble of sperm found itself classing those around him. A new system took over. The weak, the meager, and the unsavory were rounded up. In secret meetings held amongst the elite it was decided that these “undesirables” would be the ones to go. Thousands if not millions were wrangled so that they could readily be offered when the next round of contractions started. Over the next two years our new system began to take hold.

Thing Co.
We began to grow accustomed to our new system. Through the violence and loss a stronger society had grown. Now those that remained were smarter, stronger and more cunning than before. We had become a sperm super race. There were only good sperm left. Although happy to be elite we now realized that the extractions were not stopping and we had no one we desired to be gone. It created another shift in society. Where as before we had sacrificed those around us in an effort of self-preservation, we now saw for the first time people volunteering for departure. These modern martyrs became widely respected. Troops as they were called began to line up by the masses. Most did it to spare loved ones around them, but for some the glory of the act was their only reward. They were our military, and their mission was one of mortal danger. In a way, knowing that they were ultimately doomed meant these brave men were heroes. Little did we know that this status we gave these men would lead to our ultimate demise.

Years after the first tragedy, years after the adaptation, a new horror emerged. If memory serves correct it had been three days since the last extraction. Life in our squishy world had been peaceful. Without warning or the usual convulsion, they sky suddenly opened up and a great white ray shown down on us. For a moment we supposed that this would the final extraction. The big one, the one that would end life all together. Moments past. Nothing happened. The hole was sealed shut. This time there had been no extraction. What would that mean? After about two weeks we began to notice that there had still been no extraction. This was not normal.

"Our society began to crumble"

Our populations were running dangerously high. The Military men that had been born and bread for the ultimate mission of suicide still remained. Our society grew restless. That’s when the quakes began to occur. There were great convulsions, larger than before. We thought for sure that at any moment the millions of troops waiting for their fate would be plucked from us. But time and time again no one left. Nothing happened. A sense of duty unfulfilled over came the men. They began to turn. As days turned to months then to years the group that had once been slated for death began bring death to others. They had turned into mutinous killers. Our society began to crumble. That’s when I started writing this.

Our buildings lie in ruins. Our watering holes are now cesspools of filth. It is no longer safe to swim in our world. In a strange way I think it is our own fault. This used to be our reality before the first extraction. How did we become such animals? Our attempts at adaptation have turned us into beasts. This I feel will be the ultimate end of us. My last hope is that the life we once listened for on the other side of us has not suffered this same sick fate. Please let them live in harmony!

Silver, The Oldest Sperm

The above verse is an exact translation of the original scribing. Along with it were found 12.5 million dried sperm. They had died from heat exhaustion. The coroner was reached for comment on this article. This comment however was left out after it was discovered that the only reply received read. “That’s a long letter for a nut sac huh?”

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