(We Come) From Nothing
Behold the endless muck of walking about. There is nothing here to take.
The last bits of rain had drained through the rock-framed crevices of the overground.
This parchment stared up at the sky, its floralithic adornments stretching forever beneath the martian sky.
This was earth nonetheless, simply a barren patch — and the red-velvet humidity that tends to wrap such patches up.
In the distance, two friends walk nearly hand-in-hand. Social convention dictated that they were oriented toward that slight difference away from each other.
Their oriental gait was painted across the mud in long shadows. Something was about time — as the sun marched its way to set, the friends seemed unsettled by something else.
Oh.
But in another direction, someone else covers a distance. What could that be about?
Time, again, perhaps?
Here they are: and one reaches out to the other.
... ... ...
The shadow slipped from rabbit’s fist as she passed it to her friend, turtle, to sip.
‘But what will we do now,’ quoth the fuzzy furrette.
“Nothing particularly revolutionary,” came the reply, “perhaps, we will clamber up that tree.”
‘What will we find there?’
“Enough light to make another.”
And so the two set off, satisfied with the logic proposed in those arguments — determined to weave from the sun’s rose-golden strands a coat of shadowfelt.
The vastness of flatland spread beneath their feet as they paused before the great oak and looked up to see its top disappear into the blur of their primitive vision.
“This is not an oak,” said turtle for some godforsaken reason.
‘I couldn’t care less,’ said rabbit, because she was a practicing nihilist, or in practice to become one; it’s hard to keep track of these things, really.
And so the clamber began — with each setting a paw treeside, upon the bark; and then the other, and another and so upon their journey embarked.
The orange sky wheezed a humid breeze that consumed the floralithic landscape in the subtle agitate of sway.
“This is endless. Why couldn’t we have just made shadows on the ground?” asked a weary turtle.
‘Bemoanance is for the meek; rejoice in your ability to blame yourself. But, speak any louder and you’ll sure the tiger hark,’ seethed rabbit in staggered reply; staggered by the effort of the climb.
“Sometimes it feels like you only every say anything to make the listener feel like there’s nothing left to say.”
‘Well, I’d rather you be quiet than permit you cultivate disquiet in my head with all that moaning.’
The sun was amused and made audience of himself.
“I can’t help but think this to be something of an onanistic exploit on your part.”
‘Stop using elaborate words, you know they disgust me. We’re in this together, look — we’re nearly there.
‘What could I possibly gain from this that you can’t or won’t yet?’
“That is precisely the question that keeps me going.”
‘If it’s questions that keep you going, my friend, you’re well-fueled; curiosity is virtually endless.’
“We’re here.”
‘I can see the birds,’ continued rabbit as she stretched. Little pops in the arch of her back betrayed the absolute lack of planning invested in this expedition.
The lands of endless red stretched far beneath them, but, surely, beyond the scope of their primitive vision: to them, despite any trace of sapience, they had taken residence of an island in the sky, whose ladder was the same as its mud.
Some cawing in the distance was wrapped up in the muffled subtlety of feathers against the wind — the vast emptiness of the all-titude that surrounded them was re-iterated with every second experienced therein.
‘Alright, let’s get to it then.’
“You’re the expert. I barely made it up here, why don’t you begin.”
‘I don’t see any reason to contest your upbringing — I’d be honoured.’
And so rabbit stretched her fingers high and raised them so they grazed — just about and barely, but they grazed — the sky. And their tips turned to cows that unhinged their jaws and swallowed whole gulps of the endless red-blue.
The sun, still setting, was unsettled just a bit.
Turtle stretched his paws, that he’d stolen from cat, and made for the cloudbank too. Everything hung in suspense — while the cows munched on until they now came home: quickly the solar towel was consumed: quickly its seams were unsewn and the knitting of its integrity unraveled.
As the audience shrunk into the implications of circumstance, silently and without a fight, the friends perched high on tree-held sky were consumed by their efforts.
The sister of a friend had taught rabbit to make shadows with her palms, and turtle was close enough to reflect participation once initiated. Some sacrifice was necessary, but they were done sooner than it takes for most creatures to sink into the sands of wallow.
The sun had sunk well beyond those extents of familiarity that embraced his presence — there was nothing left but the whimper of surmise. The implication of surrender was conveniently familiar.
And, just like that, the night was born.