The sea is immense. The horizon stretches endlessly in all directions, up into the cloudless sky and down into the pristine clear waters of the sea itself. Not a single fish swims in the waters, no birds can be found in the sky. The only interruptions to these near perfect horizons are the looming rock structures that climb into the skies, reaching out from the endless bottom of the waters.

Some are barely tall enough to break the surface of the water, resting a foot above the sea, the waves pouring over their tops. Some seem determined to find the ceiling of the sky and puncture through it with their razor thin tops, letting the blue of the sky slowly drain out of sight, uncovering the true essence of what is hidden beneath. Still others are simply abstract with massive holes ripped into their centers, the top portions held up only by two paper thin sides, or spiraling about, each turning on and around itself as though trying to swallow itself and be done.

There are countless numbers of them, all scattered, without pattern. They are all made of the same jagged mud colored rock. That is where the similarities in appearance end. Each structure seems to be the construct of a madman-a madman with endless creativity, but no ability to reproduce himself.

"Good throw," comes a gentle voice. "Look at that; you can land on my piece."

All of the stones do have one other thing in common-one trait that binds them together as a single cycle. They are all eroding. All are doing so at different speeds: some are eroding so fast they never make it from the sea, others so slowly they've watched over these waters for centuries, but they are all falling back into the sea. If it weren't for the soft din of the waves caressing the stones, you could hear the sounds of the rocks, pebbles and sand sliding down, being taken by the waves-taken and then reused to build the next structure.

There is a soft giggle. "I knocked out two pieces." It is a higher pitched voice; most likely a child's.

In the distance, one of the rocks collapses in upon itself. It had eroded mostly in its center, and finally couldn't support the weight of its top half. The top is pitched to the side, falling in seemingly slow motion, tipping over and landing sideways on the bottom half. Instead of breaking into two pieces over the stronger bottom, it rests there briefly, kissing the bottom half for one last moment. The bottom then gives in, suddenly sinking rapidly into the eagerly awaiting sea. Within seconds, it is swallowed, with barely a wave formed from the turmoil. It is simply gone.

"Bah! Now that was a horrible throw, wasn't it?" Another giggle follows the question. "I'll never get to my side at this rate."

There is a simple gentle breeze passing over the ocean. Despite the vastness of the sea with nothing to break the wind, it remains soft and caressing as it flows over and past the structures. Indiscriminately it blows, ignoring the mud constructs, possibly sensing that to know all of them would be too much of a burden on its soul. The wind passes an extremely unstable stone, feels its way through the holes that are slowly expanding in its gut, and without a moment's thought, presses towards yet another one. Approaching it with its methodical pace, unseeing and unknowing, it reaches the next stone.

It is fairly straight forward, as far as these things go-very straight and of medium height. Its sides are very smooth; there are no holes throughout its structure and very few cracks scattered throughout its being. However, like all of its brethren, it is eroding, and fairly rapidly from the looks of it, one side shifting downwards in its entirety, less than an inch at a time. The top is very flat and smooth-a perfect surface.

On it sit two beings. Both are sitting at a crude wooden table, each on a simple wooden chair. One is a child-a boy with sun bleached blonde hair cut in a round bowl design. It suddenly blows gently over his face as a breeze catches its soft strands. The boy is of small stature. His feet swing back and forth energetically under his chair, unable to reach the ground below where he sits. His eyes, matching the color of the sky, stare intently at the one across from him. There is humor in his eyes. It seems oddly misplaced here.

The other is older, but not exactly human. It is humanoid in shape and design: two arms, two legs, one head and such; however, it is of another species. A soft brownish fur covers the few parts of his body that is not covered with clothing. His nose points out several inches, and he has a poor tendency to aim it to the sky and wrinkle it, more out of habit than to actually smell. If he were to be compared to an animal of sorts, he would most closely resemble a cross between a man and a goat. The two are in the midst of a backgammon game.

The gentle clattering of a pair of dice is heard. The boy quickly claps his hands together as his opponent throws up his hands to the sky.

"Another double!"

The boy rises excitedly from his seat and reaches across the table, moving two of his pieces across the board at twice their normal rate of travel. The goat sits and watches the move, and despite the fact that the roll was at his game's expense, there seems to be a small crooked smile across his face. The child sits back down as the goat picks up his set of white dice and drops them into the small cup.

"So, where did you learn to play so well?" the goat asks as he spills the dice out across the set, revealing a one and a two. The goat smacks his shaking forehead, much to the child's amusement.

"My brother taught me."

The goat nods as he moves his pieces. "He must have been a good teacher."

The boy nods enthusiastically and throws his own dice. "He was very good. He never lost!"

The dice rattle across the game, dancing over the brown and white triangles and past the awaiting discs, revealing a double three. The boy cries out in joy, laughing happily, sweeping the small wisps of blond hair from his eyes as he moves his pieces. Even the goat laughs a low chuckle as he sits back in his seat.

"How could your brother never lose if you play like this?"

The boy sits back in his own seat, a bit defensive in his stance. "He told me that losing makes you tough. It helps build your character."

The goat smiles ruefully. "Yet he never lost?"

The boy frowns for a moment, pondering the thought. "I never saw him lose."

Nodding, the goat makes his throw and repeats his last poor effort. "Well, it looks like you need to learn about winning now."

The boy smiles but seems distracted. He is glancing over at the one side of the surface that is steadily shrinking, the side directly behind him. The goat grimaces, a pained look flashing across his tender face. Reaching across the table, he touches the boy's hand where it rests on the side.

"It's your throw," he says softly.

The boy nods, but continues to look. "Will it hurt?" he asks calmly.

"Will what hurt?" the goat responds, hating that he has done so, but knows he must.

"When I fall." The boy turns looking into the goat's dark brown eyes. "Will it hurt when I die?"

The goat snorts slightly. "No. No, I promise. It won't hurt at all."

The boy nods, watching intently as the edge of the surface creeps toward the back of his chair. Then suddenly, the calmness is gone. The child bursts into tears. The droplets run down his soft cheeks, flowing down as the gentle sobs run through his body. The goat grips his hand, squeezing it to offer his support.

"Shhh. Shhh." Releasing his grip on the boys hand, he runs it across the boy's hair, uncovering the boy's crying eyes. "There's no need to cry."

"Why must I?" the child asks simply through the sobs.

The question tears at the goat like none before. He wants to cry out the truth, expose the villain, but he cannot. The boy never saw, so he can never know. Beyond the simple impossibility of telling the boy, he knows it would hurt even more if he knew the truth.

"It is necessary," the goat whispers in response, barely audible.

Wiping the tears from his cheek, the boy looks back up, visibly trying to control himself, and picks up his dice. "I'm sorry," he whispers as the dice tumble from his hand.

The goat doesn't look at the results, but instead runs his hand down the boy's cheek. "There is nothing to be sorry for."

The boy looks confused briefly. "For crying. My brother always taught me that boys shouldn't cry."

The goat shakes his head. "For every tear not shed there is a price." Seeing the boy struggle to understand, the goat pats his hand and says, "Let's keep playing. After this game, you will understand."

The boy smiles again and agrees, noticing for the first time that he has rolled double fives. His face explodes in joy, wiping all signs of the tears from his face. Moving his pieces, he sends the first of his discs into their base.

"Good job! I don't even have my people out of your side yet!"

The boy's chair shakes suddenly. Looking back over the chair, the boy sees that the edge has reached the back of his chair. He looks over at the goat with uncertainty spread across his innocent face. The goat nods and motions for the boy to stand.

Standing, they both watch as the edge passes under the chair. The back legs remain suspended in air for a moment, but then instead of falling back, the chair begins to melt. As each part is exposed to the emptiness left by the encroaching surface, it begins to liquefy, congealing and then running down into the surface, melding with it. The boy is entranced, only broken out of it by the soft tapping of the goat's hand on his shoulder.

"Quickly now. It's your turn." The boy doesn't see how forced the goat's smile is.

A quick volley of die throwing ensues. All the while, the chair disappears beyond the boy, the last of it fading into the surface.

The boy continues to throw doubles, the discs marching into their safe haven. The goat's dismal luck also continues; three discs still remain trapped on the wrong side of the board. With each throw, he groans miserably. With each groan, the boy's smile grows wider. With each centimeter the smile grows, the edge takes more.

The edge has now stretches within inches of the boy's heels. The goat's smile is desperate now.

"Look how close you are! All you need is a four and a five and you win!" he says with apparent joy is in his voice, but it is hard.

The boy claps his hands happily one last time. Then, clutching the dice, he shakes his tiny hands. The brown dice bounce across his small palm, spin out, and fly across the game board. He laughs loudly, knowing his victory is near. His laughter is pure happiness as the dice slide across the table. He doesn't notice that each side has two lines of three white holes spread across them. He doesn't notice the edge reaching to take him.

The wind continues on.

Copyright 2000 Harry Raden

Ads links: