Tuesday, February 18, 2014

Boulder and Mountain

Up at the top of a mountain there was a large boulder.  For as long as Boulder could remember, it had been part of Mountain's life.  Big, strong, it held up a lot of weight, sometimes animals, sometimes trees.  Recently, Mountain and Boulder were drifting apart.  Slowly at first, but now more and more, it was obvious they wouldn't be together forever. Anyone who looked up at the mountainside would see.

Boulder and Mountain were in the arduous process of separating their things subtly for the imminent moving out.  Mountain was slowly sneaking the boulder's CDs into its own collection.  Always feigning surprise, "Oh you found your Tragic Kingdom CD in my Macbook Pro, at work at?  I must have borrowed it last week, I'm sure I told you.  Did you forget?" and so on.

Then one day, without fanfare, it was time.

A boulder crashing down the side of a mountain is a sight to see.  It can cause millions of dollars worth of damage, and untold mental anguish knowing that if it had came down seconds later, or just two feet to the left, you could've become the favorite child.  But, as it stands, your sister was unscathed.

"A small detour s'all.  Then we'd still have grandpa, and you'd be gone, like you want." Sarah said to Beatrice.

"It's not my fault he was up on the roof!  I do want to leave this stupid house, and everyone in it."  Beatrice started to pout.  "Mommy!"

No one came.  The two sisters were alone in the house.

Sarah, gazing at the wreckage, the trajectory of the large rock, through their lives and hallway obvious as it was, saw a somehow unscathed pamphlet sitting on a mostly destroyed table.

"Rubber soled shoes provide the best traction on a roof." It helpfully stated.  However, it unhelpfully left out that they provided minimal protection against oncoming boulders, and if you happened to be on a roof with your back turned and music playing in your headphones, your chance of survival is about as good as a sweet and helpful uncredited astronaut in a science fictional show.

Even though it was a small town, most people didn't hear or know about the incident.  They had their own lives, and their own worries.  They had no direct relation to the people who lived on the hill.  So they went on about their lives.  Because people are unobservant.  Because most creatures don't realize what lines are being crossed, and what irrevocable consequences are thundering towards them.

 Most people don't realize they're living consequences that have already come.  They're constantly surprised, by what should be, the obvious next event in the narrative that is their life.

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