Twilight of the Overmen
Once upon a time, a feverish Neanderthal roared into the empty air, “O Gramma, Gramma, you right!”
His Sapiens slaves looked at each other. A nurse asked the presiding shaman, “Is Master experiencing another spirit vision?”
The shaman said, “No, that’s just delirium. Terminal phase.”
Their Neanderthal master ranted, “O Gramma, brown men come from south. We say they weak. Thin. Slow. Stupid. Easy prey. We say, they slaves, we gods. So we fight they, we win. So undermen serve overmen, they work, we play. Gramma, you say we fools!”
The nurse asked the shaman, “What treatment options exist?”
The shaman said, “Palliation only. The outcome is inevitable.”
The Neanderthal overman raged, “Gramma, I burn! Underman baby fever beat I! So who worse, who better?”
The underman shaman said, “I prescribe four acornsful of sleep-easy, hand-and-two acorns of cool-down, and a half-acorn of calmer.”
The nurse and her coven stirred herbs and fungi into fermented berry juice, while the Neanderthal raved. “Gramma, one overman stone knife slay mammoth, crowd undermen sneaky trap catch rabbits! So we say we better! We talk short strong words, they talk long puzzle webs! So we say we better! Overmen proud free lone masters, undermen ant-hill sheep-herds! So we say we better! O Gramma, you say we fools!”
The Sapiens shaman gave his master a gourd full of medicine. He said in god-talk, “Drink this, Lord. Magic potion, you feel good.”
The dying Neanderthal god drank, then closed his eyes and slept.
Moral: Over goes under, under turns over.
Comment. This Nietzschian Neanderthal had a theory of ubermensch and untermensch, but nature selected otherwise.