Botober 9: Balance
Oct. 9th, 2020 07:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
alfvaenWhoa, what's this? What am I doing posting this early? It's pretty weird. Anyway, I managed to yank out with pliers whip up another Botober story. Today's prompts are:
Balance
Helene knelt in the shadowy garden. In front of her was a cabbage stump two meters across, one of the few signs that anything had ever grown there. She remembered the day she'd harvested it. In the center of the stump burned the tiny flame she had kindled there. A faint rotten stench drifted from one edge of the stump, and she wrinkled her noise.
She raised her knife, held it out to one side. The shadow fell on the dirt a few feet behind her. She lowered her arm until the shadow was at the right position. Then she started shuffling on her knees, rubbing dirt into her leggings, going slowly and steadily so the knife's shadow stayed in the same position. She went slowly but steadily, not bothering to look back to see the path of the knife's shadow linger and darken as the length of the arc increased. By the time she made it around to the beginning of the circle, it looked like she was surrounded by a deep, narrow trench of darkness.
Once the arc was closed, Helene flipped the knife quickly back against her arm, wincing slightly at the lash of the broken shadow.
She closed her eyes and began to murmur, all the syllables she had managed to unearth of the name of the being she wished to contact. The words started quietly, but as they reverberated off the sides of the now-closed circle, they became louder, the echoes reinforcing each other until it felt like Helene was shouting in her own ears. The flame began to waver, as if some invisible creature was breathing on it. Then it snapped to one side, like an inhalation, and went out.
(Blank)
As Helene's eyes adjusted to the darkness, she began to see stars. Not above her in the sky, as she would expect, but below her, as if she was seeing their reflection in a still lake.
"WHO!"
The force of the thought, the single word, the concept of unknown identity, drove Helene back onto the ground, ground that was now soft and spongy, not the crumbly dirt of her garden, but something more like her own skin. "One who calls," she said.
"Tiny," rumbled the voice. "You tiny. What want?"
"Our land is perishing," Helene said. "We starve."
"You want eat? Gots lots food. Whole planet of ice cream! You like ice cream?"
Despite herself, Helene smiled. "Ice cream is fine, but that would be too much. We are tiny. We can make our own food, but we need help. The seasons are out of balance. Too much heat, then too much cold. Too much rain, then too much drought."
"Balance," it rumbled. "Balance hard. Easy give lot. Not good balance."
"I looked in the flames," Helene said. "I saw a great struggle, in the sky. Forms wrestling, one winning, then another winning. Not balance of harmony, but wild swinging of conflict."
"Sky. They fighting in sky again? Told them not to fight. Been sleep too long. Good wake me."
"Thank you, great one," Helene said. "I will let you restore order in the sky, and return to the earth."
"Earth good. You know what else good?"
Helene's eyes snapped open on starlight, from above, not below, before the voice could say more. Her body was stiff, and she could see predawn glow in the east. As she stood, she saw something odd, something white, sitting on the cabbage stump. She laughed quietly to herself, then picked up the ice cream and licked it daintily off her fingers.
- Things: a planet made out of ice cream
- Concepts: (Blank)
- Advanced: The very concept of a knife arranged in a circle
- Terrible: A cabbage stump
Balance
Helene knelt in the shadowy garden. In front of her was a cabbage stump two meters across, one of the few signs that anything had ever grown there. She remembered the day she'd harvested it. In the center of the stump burned the tiny flame she had kindled there. A faint rotten stench drifted from one edge of the stump, and she wrinkled her noise.
She raised her knife, held it out to one side. The shadow fell on the dirt a few feet behind her. She lowered her arm until the shadow was at the right position. Then she started shuffling on her knees, rubbing dirt into her leggings, going slowly and steadily so the knife's shadow stayed in the same position. She went slowly but steadily, not bothering to look back to see the path of the knife's shadow linger and darken as the length of the arc increased. By the time she made it around to the beginning of the circle, it looked like she was surrounded by a deep, narrow trench of darkness.
Once the arc was closed, Helene flipped the knife quickly back against her arm, wincing slightly at the lash of the broken shadow.
She closed her eyes and began to murmur, all the syllables she had managed to unearth of the name of the being she wished to contact. The words started quietly, but as they reverberated off the sides of the now-closed circle, they became louder, the echoes reinforcing each other until it felt like Helene was shouting in her own ears. The flame began to waver, as if some invisible creature was breathing on it. Then it snapped to one side, like an inhalation, and went out.
(Blank)
As Helene's eyes adjusted to the darkness, she began to see stars. Not above her in the sky, as she would expect, but below her, as if she was seeing their reflection in a still lake.
"WHO!"
The force of the thought, the single word, the concept of unknown identity, drove Helene back onto the ground, ground that was now soft and spongy, not the crumbly dirt of her garden, but something more like her own skin. "One who calls," she said.
"Tiny," rumbled the voice. "You tiny. What want?"
"Our land is perishing," Helene said. "We starve."
"You want eat? Gots lots food. Whole planet of ice cream! You like ice cream?"
Despite herself, Helene smiled. "Ice cream is fine, but that would be too much. We are tiny. We can make our own food, but we need help. The seasons are out of balance. Too much heat, then too much cold. Too much rain, then too much drought."
"Balance," it rumbled. "Balance hard. Easy give lot. Not good balance."
"I looked in the flames," Helene said. "I saw a great struggle, in the sky. Forms wrestling, one winning, then another winning. Not balance of harmony, but wild swinging of conflict."
"Sky. They fighting in sky again? Told them not to fight. Been sleep too long. Good wake me."
"Thank you, great one," Helene said. "I will let you restore order in the sky, and return to the earth."
"Earth good. You know what else good?"
Helene's eyes snapped open on starlight, from above, not below, before the voice could say more. Her body was stiff, and she could see predawn glow in the east. As she stood, she saw something odd, something white, sitting on the cabbage stump. She laughed quietly to herself, then picked up the ice cream and licked it daintily off her fingers.
