StoryScope of the Day : THE DAY THE DOLPHINS FIXED EVERYTHING
THE DAY THE DOLPHINS FIXED EVERYTHING
On this particular Tuesday, which astronomers would later discover wasn’t a Tuesday at all, but rather a marginally overlapping hiccup in the time-space continuum known locally as Splorgday, Merle received a message.
The thing about dolphins, thought Merle Thatchwick, is that nobody ever listens to them. This was a well-documented problem, second only to the issue of humans insisting they’re the smartest species on the planet when, in fact, they were, at best, third. Dolphins, of course, were second — having recently edged out rats in the Galactic Intelligence Sweepstakes after inventing underwater synchronised Sudoku.
Merle was, for lack of a better title, Earth’s Unofficial Keeper of Interdimensional Messages Received Via Echolocation. He didn’t remember applying for the job, but since the post was vacant, the dolphins had decided on a show of fins and elected him unanimously. It had come as quite a surprise, particularly as he was shopping for toothpaste at the time.
On this particular Tuesday, which astronomers would later discover wasn’t a Tuesday at all, but rather a marginally overlapping hiccup in the time-space continuum known locally as Splorgday, Merle received a message.
It came in the form of a dolphin named Pippa, who materialised next to him in the shallows of Brighton Beach with a loud pop, which sounded suspiciously like a B-flat.
« Feel it, » Pippa said in a manner both commanding and delightfully nonchalant.
« Name it. »
Merle blinked. « What, the seaweed? Nigel? Nigel the Seaweed ? »
« Not the seaweed, you twit. The feeling. It’s important. For balance. For breathing. For not getting eaten by interstellar bureaucracy. »
Pippa, it should be noted, had mastered sarcasm at a level most humans could only aspire to after three gin-and-tonics.
Merle took a breath. Then another. It wasn’t so bad, really. The salt air, the feeling of impending cosmic paperwork, the faint aroma of someone barbecuing suspiciously outdated sausages nearby. He named it: « Mildly terrified but oddly exhilarated. »
« Excellent, » Pippa said, twirling midair in a manoeuver that would earn perfect marks in any aquatic gymnastics tournament. « Now act on it. »
Before Merle could ask how, the dolphin flicked her tail, and suddenly he was standing at a crossroads — one path paved in luminous golden light, with fields of singing lemongrass and peppermint bushes the size of small cars; the other leading to a vast bureaucratic office made entirely of lost socks and half-written complaint forms.
« Choose, » Pippa said.
« Well, this is a metaphor, isn’t it? » Merle muttered.
« No, it’s quantum possibility plumbing. Don’t mess it up. »
After a moment’s reflection, and a helpful waft of chamomile-scented breeze, Merle took the golden path. Instantly, the crushing weight of his overdue electric bill and the existential horror of being mildly disliked on social media lifted.
He could feel it. He could name it. And for the first time, he truly acted on it — by laughing, loudly and quite embarrassingly.
In that moment, the universe — or at least Merle’s patch of it — recalibrated.
The dolphins, having concluded their business, vanished back into the time stream with a satisfied series of clicks that, when translated, meant roughly: « Told you so. »
And so, on that Splorgday, Merle Thatchwick became the first human in recorded history to heed Dolphin Medicine, survive interdimensional bureaucracy, and regain his inner joy all before teatime.
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Moral :
Listen to dolphins. Always. Especially when they insist you name your feelings.
Footnote :
As a side effect, dolphins would later go on to claim third place in the Galactic Intelligence Sweepstakes after ceding second place to an octopus named Phil who could recite the entire Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy backwards while playing chess.