contrastvision

My master sends crows like me off to deliver messages. This has always been my job. I call. I speak my call. Yet across this gloomy city, no one listens. No matter my height in the sky, nor the branch that I sit on, these people move along without giving my call a second notice. I carry one message to deliver. Upon delivery, my mission is completed. Yet my message can only be understood by one person. The one individual of which it belongs to. Where could this person be? Are they hiding? Are they just shy? The message does seem pretty important. I mean, it is the final testament of a dead man. Therefore, my master wishes to give the message to his son, for it might add some closure to his fathers sudden passing.

I’ve searched and searched for this son, soaring from perch to perch. Eventually I found who I was looking for, though he seemed quite different from how I imagined. He was old, wrinkled, and had a large beard on his face. I noticed he was holding a bottle of whiskey, making me think that he was drunk with the regret of something. I knew that I found the son.

I called, giving him my Misunderstood Message, for only he did not perceive it as a simple crow call. He understood my message immediately. Yet his response was very unusual to me. Bursting into tears, he seemed both sad and crying tears of joy. I could not tell the difference. All I know about is his father’s message. “My son, you had every right to take my life. I was drunk, violent, and vile to you. You simply did what you could to defend you and your mother. I forgive you. Pop.”

He had a sense of burning when I was in his presence. Him and his fellow acquaintances. I sat at the round table, put in my cash, and was given chips. They seem burnt like being caught in a fire for a long time. As we made are first set of bets, the three cards were drawn. I peeked at my two cards, and felt very exhilarated. Testing my luck, raised my bet. The men grinned as they followed suit, meeting the demands of my bet. The leading man then raised the bey even more. I contemplated, and did something I was sure to regret. I went all in.

The final stage was here. All the other men folded, so it was just between me and the dark figure of a man. I revealed my hand. Three kings. That was a good hand. Even he was impressed. That is, until he revealed his own hand. Three aces. I was stunned. No way I could’ve been beaten like that. No way at all. Then again, he is impossible to beat. No one has, no one will.

Shaking Hands With the Devil  

They brought with them nothing. Nothing but the knowledge of one purpose, to create anything, including life itself. They made a home here. Contemplating on how to expand themselves across the land. Inspiration came to them, from the sun. Like a bumblebee to a flower, the suns light came to them, and they used it to great effect. With their ingenuity, they formed colossal structures from anything they could find. And just like that, the sun bended to their will.

Like us, months and years go by. The craftsmen expand their knowledge the sun to great effect. Before the next year passes, the entire area is given this powerful gift of the collective. The structures, evolved, from mud and wood to stone and clay. Towering the plains. An entire civilization was born. But of course, this is no utopia where things can’t go wrong. Eventually, something has to fail.

A large storm swept across the land. Thunder, hail, and rain came all at once to these great people. The problem was not only the storm tearing apart the plains, but the clouds within it blotting out the sun. The craftsmen lost their source of power. They lost their reason for being. They lost their existence.

When the storm passes, there is nothing left. With one exception. The last few of the craftsmen come out of hiding. Whimpering and praying that this is not really happening. Sadly, it is to good to be true. They are the last of their kind. Now they must find new land, breath new life to that land. But now, they know to prepare. Prepare for any similar storms. They just evolve.

Perhaps this is a new beginning for the Craftsmen. 

Because in the beginning, there was nothing.