A wayward kite, soaring high above the sky, sought a bit of heaven, a taste across its sails. Struggled and stretched, its line nearly spent. It pleaded for the wind to bend. The wind, hearing the kite’s wish, returned not with force but with course: “Bend and your line will break. Forever riding heaven’s currents, but leaving nothing in your wake. Retreat and sail another day. Forever living the struggle, but with renewing purpose and say.” The kite, heeding the wind’s wise words, withdrew to continue its tale.
A stowaway pack of mice aboard a merchant galleon enjoys a sumptuous meal of grains and seeds amidst its transpacific voyage. Unbeknownst to them, the vessel will hit a violent maelstrom that shipwrecks the cruise; the sailors perish in the sea but the mice will survive. Upon leaving the destruction, the pack found themselves on a deserted island without natural predators. The ship’s delicious cargo littered the coast, the makings of Utopia… Almost a year after its inception, the kingdom of mice swelled to critical mass. With most of the cargo grains gone and the island vegetation almost consumed, cannibalism became a real possibility. If mice could pray, they prayed for deliverance of what they were about to do. Fate would smile on them for on the next day, the same maelstrom returned and shipwrecked another merchant galleon, this time of the exotic-animal trade.
Grey. The fury of a winter’s storm stifles every movement forward. I hardly see the ground some two paces from where I stand, enduring the mountain’s wrath. Yet, I still sense my companion a few meters in front radiating with a burning passion that casts all doubts aside. He was going to scale the mountain with or without help.
Red. Blood boils in defiance of death. Such was the color and mood of the sky when I reached the summit the next evening. I found his frozen body, stiff like the mountain, yet unyielding to its will. His was not alone for many others just like him also stood, encased in icy opposition against fate. Their spirits continue to fight, torching the clouds and staving off night. Blood burns the brightest when drawn to Death’s peak I thought.
Heaven falls. The spirals of new Babel that pierce the God’s realm began to buckle. My companion and I race down the tower, rappelling off the million-step coil that strangled the tower. Above us, the descending storm eviscerated man’s creation but not his hubris. The way forward was barred but not lost. Let us build Paradise on Earth to match the heavens then.
Hell rises. A wave of sand chokes new Atlantis, the city of the Sea. Now desert nomads, we huddle in sand pits as dust storms rage amidst the ocean’s carcass. Electrolyzing the sea-water was certainly a mistake after the atmospheric breach. A price we must all pay when we toyed with climate controllers. Is it man’s nature to transgress its bounds my companion mused? When man believes itself God, who is left to check him I replied?
Upstream. A young woman saunters down the banks of the river Lethe, distraught over her lover who drank from its waters and lost his memories. Torn between severing her own memories, she leans over to the water’s edge and casts her reflection on the amnesic currents. Despair prevails and she throws herself into oblivion.
Downstream. A young man saunters up the banks of the river Lethe, disoriented from having imbibed its waters. He witnesses a young woman struggling against the river’s currents, desperate to remain afloat. Out of instinct, he dives into the watery rapids and rescues her.