The Dodo never had a chance. He seems to have been invented for

Host: The rain fell in slow, deliberate drops, each one echoing against the rusted roof of an abandoned aviary on the outskirts of town. Broken cages hung like forgotten memories, their bars streaked with time and moss. The light from a single flickering bulb drew circles in the mist, and in that pale glow, Jack and Jeeny stood — two shadows amidst the echoes of what once flew.

Jack leaned against a pillar, hands deep in his coat, his grey eyes fixed on a dusty display case — a replica of a Dodo. Jeeny, kneeling nearby, traced her fingers over a plaque that read, “Raphus cucullatus — extinct, 1681.” The sound of wind seeped through the cracked windows like a whisper from the past.

Jeeny: “He looks so… peaceful. Like he never knew he was doomed.”

Jack: “Peaceful? He looks stupid, Jeeny. Clumsy. The quote’s right — he was made to disappear. A design flaw in nature’s book.”

Host: A flash of lightning briefly illuminated Jack’s face, its sharpness caught between sarcasm and sadness.

Jeeny: “You really think he was made to vanish? That some lives exist only to end?”

Jack: “Look around you. The world’s full of them. Species, ideas, even people. Some are just… not built to survive the competition. The Dodo was too slow, too trusting. The moment men with guns arrived, he was finished.”

Jeeny: “But maybe that’s not his fault. Maybe it’s ours. He trusted, and we killed him. That doesn’t make his existence meaningless — it makes ours cruel.”

Host: Raindrops slid down the glass, each one carrying the reflections of the two faces — one hardened by logic, the other softened by empathy.

Jack: “Cruelty is part of evolution, Jeeny. You ever read about the Tasmanian tiger? Same story. Humanity didn’t set out to destroy it — it was just in the way. Progress has no mercy. Nature doesn’t, either.”

Jeeny: “That’s your problem, Jack. You think progress means destruction. You call it evolution, but all I hear is excuse. Maybe we are the Dodos — clever enough to build, stupid enough to end ourselves.”

Jack: “Oh, come on. The Dodo didn’t think. We do. That’s why we adapt, invent, survive.”

Jeeny: “Then why are our oceans dying? Our forests burning? Why are we still fighting wars that leave children orphaned and cities in ashes? We’re just more sophisticated Dodos, Jack — walking toward extinction, calling it civilization.”

Host: The air between them thickened, filled with the scent of rust and rain. A bird’s skeleton hung from the ceiling, turning slowly as if listening to their words.

Jack: “You talk like a poet, but this isn’t a tragedy, Jeeny — it’s reality. The Dodo didn’t choose extinction. It was fated. Every system has its waste, its weaknesses. That’s not evil — it’s efficiency.”

Jeeny: “And that’s what you call humanity? Efficiency? You think we’re just numbers in a machine, waiting for the slowest to fall behind?”

Jack: “That’s what keeps the machine running. History’s written by the ones who adapt, not the ones who complain.”

Jeeny: “Then tell that to the innocent. To the tribes wiped out for gold, the species lost for profit, the workers crushed by greed. Tell them they just didn’t ‘adapt’ fast enough.”

Host: Jeeny’s voice rose, her eyes burning with quiet rage. Jack looked at her, and for a moment, something in his expression faltered — a crack in his armor of logic.

Jack: “You think I don’t know what loss looks like? You think I haven’t seen it? My father’s factory went under because he refused to ‘adapt’. He kept paying his workers, even when the market turned cold. He died broke. The world doesn’t reward goodness, Jeeny. It consumes it.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe it’s not the world that’s broken, Jack. Maybe it’s the way we look at it. Maybe your father wasn’t a failure — maybe he was one of the few who didn’t forget what it means to care.”

Host: A silence settled. The storm outside softened, as if listening. The lightbulb flickered, casting shadows that moved like ghosts across the floor.

Jack: “Caring doesn’t pay the bills.”

Jeeny: “Maybe not. But apathy doesn’t save souls.”

Jack: “Souls? You still believe in that?”

Jeeny: “I believe in what makes us human. The Dodo might have been naive, but at least he didn’t destroy what he loved. We call him extinct, but maybe we’re the ones who’ve lost something.”

Jack: “So you’re saying he’s some kind of… martyr?”

Jeeny: “Not a martyr — a mirror. He’s what happens when innocence meets arrogance.”

Host: The wind howled, rattling the broken panes. A flash of lightning revealed the Dodo’s glass eyes, blank yet haunting, as if judging the world that erased it.

Jack: “You talk like there’s still hope, Jeeny. Like we can undo what we’ve already done.”

Jeeny: “Hope isn’t about undoing, Jack. It’s about remembering. The Dodo’s gone, but its story stays — a warning, a whisper that says, ‘Don’t follow me.’”

Jack: “And yet we are. Every day.”

Jeeny: “Unless we stop. Unless we listen.”

Host: The rain paused, as if on cue. A beam of moonlight broke through the clouds, falling directly on the replica Dodo. Its feathers, though fake, glimmered faintly — like a ghost reclaiming its dignity.

Jack: “You ever think maybe extinction is just… a kind of mercy? Maybe the Dodo was spared what came after — the factories, the smoke, the noise.”

Jeeny: “Maybe. Or maybe we were given a chance to learn — and we just keep forgetting.”

Host: Jeeny’s hand rested on the Dodo’s chest, over the glass heart that wasn’t beating, yet somehow felt alive. Jack watched, his jaw tight, his eyes tired — not of her, but of himself.

Jack: “You think we’ll ever learn?”

Jeeny: “Only when we stop calling it progress every time something *dies.”

Host: The sound of thunder faded into a distant murmur. Outside, the sky began to clear, a thin line of dawn painting the horizon. The two of them stood, silent, the Dodo’s shadow between them — not as a dividing wall, but as a bridge between guilt and understanding.

Jack: “You know… maybe you’re right. Maybe extinction isn’t about weakness — maybe it’s about warning.”

Jeeny: “And maybe the only thing worse than disappearing… is forgetting why you existed.”

Host: The first light of morning touched the aviary, filling it with gold. The Dodo’s glass feathers caught the glow, shining one last time — as if smiling, faintly, at the species that still had a chance.