This Is The Most Public of My Many Humiliations
Friday, July 01, 2005
The reason why i should always remain behind the camera while pictures are taken.
This is a story a friend of mine wrote and sent to me. I really liked it so I published it a while back. December 21 2004 to be exact. I was bored today, like most days. So I began to read some of my past entries on this site(I can barely remember what I posted yesterday). I re-read the story, and decided that it should be posted again. Enjoy.
There once was a man unlike any other. His name was Royal. He lived very far away from other people; this seclusion he said helped him grow his perfect strawberries. He was the only person in the whole world that knew how to grow strawberries, and so by default they were perfect. He was also very old, and had been alive as long as anyone could remember. He had a huge plot of land, and all he grew on it was strawberries. When they were ripe, people would travel impossibly far distances to obtain them. Sometimes people would begin traveling six months in advance, so as to ensure a place in the line. He allowed one small basket per person. He was unswayed by tears, pleadings, and anything of the sort. He served them on a first come first serve basis. He found that this system worked, and stuck with it. He did not much care for people only strawberries.
Some thought that he must be very lonely, they were wrong of course. The reason that he was the only person, who knew how to grow strawberries, was because he had an extra ear, just inside his regular ears, so small, it was almost imperceptible. What he heard in this inner was the strawberries speaking to him in their sweet and melodic language. Since he had been alive as long as anyone could remember, it is impossible to recount the story of the first strawberry if such a thing ever existed. So he was not lonely, he felt overwhelmed by the voices all around him. The only time he ever got nay peace was in the winter, when the frost had silenced his beloved berries. He was always happy for the first few days of this, but soon he began to pine for their plaintive voices and melodic chatter. But he was never disconcerted, for he knew without fail that they would begin to whisper in his ear soon enough.
The day that everything changed was like any other day in his life, until of course the thing happened. The sun rose and he with it, together they gazed over the ripening berries. At midday, the most primal time of day, the thing happened. He was tending to two rather plump berries and was so engrossed in their mindless chatter, that he without noticing he crushed three perfect baby berries. He saw their unrippened blood oozing from them and his heart broke. In all the time that he had tended to the berries he had never allowed one to be trodden or over ripened, they were so loved. He stared and stared at the squashed berries. He knew then that he was unfit to tend to any of the other berries for he had failed his duty to those three. How could he in good conscious go on to care for them, when the same carelessness which had killed their brethren might fall on them. With a heavy head and heart, he packed up his belongings and left that place. He set off towards the east; no one knows what became of him.
At the time when the berries ought to have been ready for distribution, the line which began weeks in advance of the actual date had already formed. The people waited and waited. The time came and passed and still they waited until one day the people simply walked up unto his property to find out where their strawberries were. When they reached the crest of the hill and looked down unto the fields a terrible sight met their eyes. Everywhere where berries, rotting, unpicked, laden with terrible looking bugs. The people ran away in fear. Many people still would go and line up waiting in the usual place waiting for Royal and his berries to return. Some gave up hope almost immediately; it will take years of disappointment to beat the hope out of some. Either way there are no more strawberries anymore.
killed softly at 7/01/2005 02:06:00 PM
|
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons License.
