The people on the ground, they could see the grandeur of the people in the sky. They could see the large, shining castles they built upon the clouds. Their castles were built out of gold. Out of platinum. Out of silver. Out of bronze. Their castles were immense, and intricate, and full of beautiful design features that must look even more stunning up close, the people of the ground thought.
The people of the ground lead miserable lives in the squalor underneath. They lived in tiny huts, and they ate tiny meals of gruel that were not enough to nourish and sustain them. They knew sickness. They knew hunger. And they knew grief. They knew the pain of losing people way too early, of living long and intolerable years without them.
The people on the ground were rueful towards the people of the sky. But this rue they suppressed within themselves. They knew that they were so small, so small, so far down on the ground. They knew that the people in the sky could not see them. They could not see the people so far down, the people so far away from them, living in such tiny huts and leaving such a small trace on the world. They knew that the people in the sky did not even ever think of the people on the ground, and therefore had no malice for the people on the ground, they had only apathy.
The people on the ground told themselves and each other to not hate the people in the sky, no matter how much they wanted to. They told themselves and each other to simply enjoy the view of the castles, of the immense golden, silver, bronze and platinum chariots, of the giant winged horses that sparkled in the sun. They told themselves and each other to simply go on living their lives, to simply go on loving each other, to simply go on giving each other everything they could and helping and supporting each other if they could do that.
They could not do much to shield each other from the horrors of their lives. They could not do much to protect and provide for each other. Their power was limited. And their resources were even more limited. But no matter what power they did or did not have, they loved each other. Because love is something that even the worst poverty cannot take away. Further still, love only grows more strong, more unshakable, more all-consuming the less you have and the more trauma you have.
But one day a disaster struck. A horrible plague reached the people on the ground. This plague made its victims' bodies swell up, and become red and feverish. This plague made its victims feel weighted and heavy, as if all their flesh, all their blood, all their organs and bones were being crushed under tonnes and tonnes of pressure. The plague killed people rapidly, and once you got it you only had a small chance of surviving.
The plague swept throughout all the lands on the ground. It swept throughout all the communities of all the people who lived on the ground. And it killed scores and scores of people as it went. The death, the grief, the pain, the torture, the trauma. It was all unimaginable. Unendurable. And those who were cursed to live as their entire families and neighbourhoods died, these ones were the most cursed. For they had to carry all their grief and devastation with them and go on.
Meanwhile, the people in the sky were oblivious. They had no idea what was going on on the ground. But the people on the ground, the people on the ground could see the large, shining castles in the sky, resting on their beds of clouds. The people on the ground could see the oversized chariots soar above their heads.
The plague eventually went away. And all that was left of the people on the ground was a small group of survivors. A small group of survivors who had lost everything. A small group of survivors who had to rebuild the world from nothing. They did not know how they could continue shouldering such loss, shouldering such grief, shouldering such mourning. Mourning that would never end. Mourning that would waterlog their lives for forever.
There was a young man. His name was Jack. He had had the plague and he had come out on the other side of it alive, after losing everyone he loved. His heart was filled with love and hatred. A hatred that came from love, a love that came from hatred, a hatred and love that each made the other stronger, so much stronger. Like how air and kindling come together to make a blazing flame.
He travelled the world, until at last he found it. A large branch on an immense tree, that had an immense amount of elasticity to it. He asked the tree if he could take this branch and craft with it a strong weapon. The tree agreed and told him to make a weapon like no other. And so Jack took the branch and made it into the strongest, most springy bow the world had seen.
He travelled until he found a field of strong and flexible grasses, with which he could build the fibres for a great bow string. He asked the grasses if he could take some of them to make the string. And they allowed him to, bidding him to make the best bow string the world has seen. And so Jack did, and added it to his bow.
He then searched far and wide until he found the strongest, straightest, densest, most firm wood in the branch of another great tree. He asked the tree, with all the reverence possible, if he could take the branch and make an arrow shaft the likes of which could support the strongest arrow. And the tree gave him permission, and bid him to make an arrow shaft truly great and unmatched. And so he did.
He continued on, searching the world for the sharpest, strongest, most dense and powerful rock. Once he found the rock, he asked the rock if he could make an arrowhead from him. And the rock gave permission. And the rock told Jack to make him into an arrowhead that could pierce through anything at all. And so Jack did.
Finally, Jack looked for the feathers with which to make the arrow's fletching. He found a bird of prey and asked if he could use her feathers for the fletching of the arrow. The bird of prey agreed, giving him her strongest, straightest, smoothest feathers and telling him to fletch the arrow well. Jack honoured her promise.
Jack thanked all the many beings who had allowed and helped him to make his weapon. And he gathered all the surviving ground people together in a field of grasses. They waited, and waited, keeping their eyes glued to the sky despite the fact that their stomachs wailed and tore for lack of food.
Finally, there was a large chariot, made of the finest platinum, that rode through the sky far above the heads of the gathered crowd. Jack knew he had one try. He loaded the arrow onto the bow, pulled the bow string, and let the arrow fly.
The arrow cut through the sky, and then it cut straight through the gigantic winged horse pulling the chariot. The creature fell down, down, down towards the ground. And with him, so too did the carriage. The carriage crashed down upon the earth in a mangled heap. And the survivors of the plague climbed up onto the broken chariot and climbed their way through the wreckage.
They found within the crash wreckage the bleeding body of a man dressed in fine, gorgeous fabric the likes of which they had never seen, dyed regal and breathtaking colours, in intricate and flowing patterns. They tore these clothes from his body. And they began feasting upon the fallen sky person's flesh.
They bit through his skin and his flesh, and consumed mouthfuls and mouthfuls of meat, until they were all satiated. Despite the frenzy, they all shared, making sure each ground person was able to consume an equal amount of the sky man's flesh.
9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGrVCBo7EQk
———
If you like this piece check out my Mastodon my account is FSairuv@mas.to and I post about human rights, social justice, and the environment.
9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVGul9u1AYU
9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvR6uJz6TH9
and then Add to home screen.