During the unrecorded time, there was balance. Not to be confused with harmony where individuals all participate fully supported and cherished, this balance was merciless. Nature and land, humans and beings, animals and spirits all bargained for their lives with their lives. Trees let animals rip and devour their fruits in exchange for fertilizer and the chance that their children might live. The quickest and strongest river nymphs calmed and sacrificed extractions of their life blood in exchange for protection from those who could not ford them, and every benefiting creature obliged. Those who could wield magic used it to hide, to fight, to forage, and on occasion in the service of others if something as valuable as an alliance lay on the other side. It was exacting. It was survival.
But like air pockets in bread something else in the fabric of mere survival emerged: thriving. Alliances became friendships, which became communities fostered in love. And like all miracles, it didn’t quit until it pervaded every aspect of life. Mercy was offered to those that didn’t deserve it, and acceptance without guarantees of safety.
The history of life is dual, and in its duality a third thing is created, from which infinite other things can be. In our past lies balance, service, justice, mercy, survival, thriving, power, and sacrifice. And as life’s first paradox, we were destined to know and accept these in order to ever choose a better thing.
There are of course those who believe in a Before — before even the unrecorded time — where things like harmony did exist, and that there is an After to boot. To me, though, the most important story to cling to is the one that gets me off my ass.
Thanks for making it to the end of my short story! Please leave a comment or literary critique below.
Short Stories
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Again, not knowing at all what I just did for the past 2 minutes I don’t regret it. This one is short enough to be a poem rather than a short story. In fact, you’ve got alliterations that can be read in metre, and the whole thing could have been read by Orson Welles.
On the other hand, there are 289 words to spell check – “ford” = “afford” on line 7.
Other than that, I spend more time trying to see meaning in the alliterations than
Thank you so much for reading and commenting! It means a lot.
I tend to walk the prose/poetry line when I’m more in my feelings. And your comment about Orson Welles is so nice!
“Ford” was meant to be like fording the river, but maybe that wasn’t obvious. I also haven’t been in a setting where people check my grammar in years so thanks for the reminder to do a double check too 🙂