The Boy, The Sasquatch, and The End of the World (Again)

(From the observational voice of the 7-year-old Sasquatch boy scribed by Author Known.)

You ever have that moment when you’re standing on the edge of something big—like really big—where you realize that the world isn’t just a playground of trees, rivers, and occasionally suspiciously missing socks? No? Just me?

Well, there I was, a seven-year-old Sasquatch boy, eyes wide, feet planted in the soft dirt, looking out at the world beyond the forest. And boy, was it a mess. Not the fun kind of mess, like a pile of leaves you can jump into. More like the human kind of mess—the kind where people are running around, screaming about the end of the world while still making sure their Amazon packages arrive on time.

At first, I thought maybe I was just too young to get it. Maybe this was some elaborate game humans played, like “Who Can Be the Most Scared for the Longest Time?” But then I listened. I studied. And I realized—no, no, this wasn’t a game. This was their way of life. And it was dumber than a squirrel trying to store acorns in a running creek.

Survival of the Most Marketable

See, survival is supposed to be simple. You wake up, you breathe, you find food, you stay warm, and if you’re lucky, you get to nap in the sun. But humans? Oh no, they turned survival into an industry. They took the idea of staying alive and put a price tag on it.

Need to eat? That’ll be $9.99, plus tax, unless you want food that won’t kill you—then it’s triple. Need a place to sleep? Hope you like owing people money until you die! Oh, and if you’re worried about the end of the world (which, by the way, seems to be happening every other Tuesday), don’t worry! Some guy in a bunker will sell you a bucket of freeze-dried sadness for only half your life savings.

It’s brilliant, really. Humans took fear—the thing that makes squirrels run up trees and birds take off before a storm—and turned it into the most profitable business in history. And somehow, everyone just keeps buying into it.

The Great and Powerful Puppets

But here’s the part that really fried my tiny, Sasquatch brain—most people know they’re being played, and they don’t care. They see the strings, they feel the pull, and instead of cutting themselves loose, they just ask where to buy better strings.

The whole thing made me itch. Not like the “haven’t bathed in a while” itch (which, let’s be honest, I’m a Sasquatch, that’s just life), but the kind of itch that makes you want to shake people and yell, “WAKE UP! YOU’RE ALL JUST RUNNING ON A TREADMILL TO NOWHERE!”

But no. Instead, they keep running. They keep buying. They keep fearing. And the few people who don’t? The ones who step back and say, “Wait a minute, why are we all freaking out about things we can’t even control?”—oh, those people get called crazy.

Crazy for not being afraid? Crazy for not buying into the panic? Crazy for realizing that the only real way to survive is to live instead of hoarding overpriced cans of government-labeled regret?

Well. If that’s crazy, then sign me up for the loony bin.

The Thing About Good and Evil

At one point, I thought maybe it was a battle between good and evil. Like one of those epic stories where the heroes rise up against the darkness. But the more I watched, the more I realized—nope. Good and evil? Same factory. Just different packaging.

Sure, some people think they’re fighting for good. Others think they’re doing evil for a greater cause. But at the end of the day, it all comes down to control. Control of people. Control of ideas. Control of whatever scraps of freedom still exist.

And the funniest part? The real world—the world beyond all this human nonsense? It doesn’t care. The trees don’t care. The rivers don’t care. The stars don’t care. The great, infinite beyond doesn’t give a single, solitary squirrel fart about who won, who lost, or who made the most money in the process.

And I think that’s the part that scared me the most. Not the wars, not the end-of-days sales events, not even the sheer stupidity of it all. What scared me was how small it all was.

The Big Joke

So there I was, standing at the edge of the woods, looking at the world and realizing that one day, I’d have to step into it. One day, I’d have to navigate this whole mess, dodging the fear-mongers, the string-pullers, and the never-ending sales pitches for Apocalypse: Deluxe Edition.

And you know what? I wasn’t scared. Because at the end of the day, no matter how much they scream, no matter how much they sell, and no matter how much they try to make me care about whatever disaster is supposed to wipe us all out this week…

I’m a seven-year-old Sasquatch boy.

And I know something they don’t.

I know that if the world really ends, the Wi-Fi will go out first.

And that is when they’ll finally lose their minds.