Unnatural Ability

How does the ibex scale mountains with comically flat hooves adapted for grassy plains? There isn't a breed of monkey daring enough to follow after it with all their inborn dexterity, grasping power, and acrobatics. The separation of the two does not reside in ability, but a singular awareness of its own presentation. Any beast that gathers itself so as to arouse a farmer's ambition will ultimately enjoy the dubious preeminence of cuisine. This distinction it holds among the fraternity wild creatures makes it permanently desperate in a way that his brother can only experience in a handful of moments. The fate of livestock conditions from numbered ear tags to electrical fences must contend with multiple sets of orange eyes that glow in the night. These fireflies of death lodge themselves into eye sockets of storied monsters. To the ibex, life is one dangerous belly after another. His biology does boast of a few neat tricks, but is fundamentally bereft of deep survival. So he must push into skills and environments that contradict his body because he does not want to be eaten. And that is what I am. A thing not yet consumed, sneaking into the allergies of time, identity, and requisite knowledge. I pray not to be sneezed out. Where I am, I should not be, and where I want to go, no longer exists. You will find me where I ought not stay training myself to be a thing not seen.