So they say it's a fact now, it's definite: There is life on other planets. In other galaxies, far far away, natch. All our stories eventually come true. Well, obviously. Did anyone seriously ever doubt they were up there? Why wouldn't they be? An atmosphere and evolutionary strides, that's all it takes, and evolution happens whether you want it to or not. Look at your own life. You are evolving as I type. We aren't special. Did you really think we ever really were?
On screen, aliens are all unified for the good of their planets -- all of them on the same page, same chapter, same book. Working hard for a cause. We will save ourselves from the calamity! they say. They are single-minded in their goal. You don't see aliens just sitting around watching Netflix. You don't see them whiling away whole days watching Gilmore Girls and playing internet Scrabble. They're just more motivated than we are, let's face it. We're lazy. And as such, we aren't going to visit them. Not a chance! They'll get here first. They're working on it right now. Properly. Not just idly contemplating the philosophical possibilties over a glass of wine and plate of crackers.
So let's say they visit. They, with a capital-T. Definitely, it will be an us vs. them thing then. We like that, we humans. Us against Them. Right vs Wrong. We need clarity in our friends and enemies. Which side of the line will you stand on? I just hope they don't eat us.
Anyway, someone shot the wolf in the Grand Canyon. One fucking wolf in the whole canyon and a hunter took it out. "Oh," he said. "Thought it was a coyote." We aren't on the same page as each other, not the same chapter, not the same book. We're all in our own book. It's embarrassing if you think about it, so probably best not to think about it. Don't even get me started about the plastic in the ocean and everywhere, molecules of it that we eat and drink and breathe, lining ourselves from the inside out with all the garbage we've created. Our planet is a wolf, and we've all shot it, lazily, from the comfort of our couches.
I hope when they come, we don't shoot them, but come on. You know that we will. It's obvious. That's what we do. Oh, we'll say, Thought it was a coyote. We'll talk about it with relief and outrage in equal measure. Pundits will weigh in. Fox News will say something stupid. CNN will make a mistake. Then it will eventually fall off the front page, fall out of the chapter, disappear entirely from our book, just another idiot with a gun who changed something for everyone, eradicating the story. Our story. Anything can be mistaken for a coyote in the light of the setting sun, after all.