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This story was inspired by this Forum Thread. Credit to SnappNote for suggesting the story and providing the image used. Feedback and criticism would be greatly appreciated, and don't be afraid to completely tear this short story apart. This was written in less than an hour and I'm sure it could use with some revision. Regardless, I hope you enjoy it.
The glaciers bleed into the landscape, a gradual splintering of the hills. The stream slithers and writhes as it burrows into the earth and soil. The sky drifts overhead, with a hundred Eyes blinking in time with the shifting stone. Great beasts vanish from the scene in seconds, small ones growing with each blink. Scuttling things dart about the image as the clouds swirl overhead.
Hills shift into cliffs, and streams grow into rivers. The rock faces are serene against the gentle blood-flow of a dead glacier. The skies remain unfazed by such changes; the Eyes withdraw deeper into their silent abyss. Strong things become weak, weak things grow strong. Smoke overcomes the skies of such worlds, a gray monotone to echo and define the land.
The Canyon does not care for such changes. The Canyon cannot care for such things. It watches the world shift and spin around it, crumbling a little more from the steady drink of its creation.
Two children meet across from one another’s end of the Canyon, staring in silence. They are young and frail and see the other as a speck on a distant hill. Their mothers might have called for them, or perhaps they grew bored as all children do. Regardless of why, they went their separate ways.
Hardly a few blinks later, two young men spy one another from opposite sides of the Canyon, stopping in wonder. Do they dare think that their respective stranger is the same as before? Do they embrace or run? Such questions riddle the minds of such worrisome souls. Whether because their wives called them back or because they had important business to attend to, they once again went their separate ways.
A minute later of impossible patience, two old men stand across from one another, divided by the river’s hunger. They are still with knowledge, the great knowledge of one another. They no longer fear the embarrassment of their confusion. They have no one to tell them to leave nor a duty to escape to. Instead, they wave to one another in shared comfort and joy, knowing that the other is just as relieved as himself.
Perhaps, by the time such Canyons are flattened to dust and such rivers are thinned out to streams once more, they will meet again. Perhaps they will truly embrace and dance together at a great reunion of strangers. Perhaps they will simply sit and look at the sky, laughing at their own idiocy. Perhaps, and this is the biggest perhaps of them all, they will simply look at one another, take off their hats, and mention the lovely weather they’re having.
The glaciers bleed into the landscape, a gradual splintering of the hills. The stream slithers and writhes as it burrows into the earth and soil. The sky drifts overhead, with a hundred Eyes blinking in time with the shifting stone. Great beasts vanish from the scene in seconds, small ones growing with each blink. Scuttling things dart about the image as the clouds swirl overhead.
Hills shift into cliffs, and streams grow into rivers. The rock faces are serene against the gentle blood-flow of a dead glacier. The skies remain unfazed by such changes; the Eyes withdraw deeper into their silent abyss. Strong things become weak, weak things grow strong. Smoke overcomes the skies of such worlds, a gray monotone to echo and define the land.
The Canyon does not care for such changes. The Canyon cannot care for such things. It watches the world shift and spin around it, crumbling a little more from the steady drink of its creation.
Two children meet across from one another’s end of the Canyon, staring in silence. They are young and frail and see the other as a speck on a distant hill. Their mothers might have called for them, or perhaps they grew bored as all children do. Regardless of why, they went their separate ways.
Hardly a few blinks later, two young men spy one another from opposite sides of the Canyon, stopping in wonder. Do they dare think that their respective stranger is the same as before? Do they embrace or run? Such questions riddle the minds of such worrisome souls. Whether because their wives called them back or because they had important business to attend to, they once again went their separate ways.
A minute later of impossible patience, two old men stand across from one another, divided by the river’s hunger. They are still with knowledge, the great knowledge of one another. They no longer fear the embarrassment of their confusion. They have no one to tell them to leave nor a duty to escape to. Instead, they wave to one another in shared comfort and joy, knowing that the other is just as relieved as himself.
Perhaps, by the time such Canyons are flattened to dust and such rivers are thinned out to streams once more, they will meet again. Perhaps they will truly embrace and dance together at a great reunion of strangers. Perhaps they will simply sit and look at the sky, laughing at their own idiocy. Perhaps, and this is the biggest perhaps of them all, they will simply look at one another, take off their hats, and mention the lovely weather they’re having.
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I wasn't expecting how randomly scrolling through landscape images on Unsplash.com yesterday was going to lead to this!
The "hundred Eyes blinking in time with the shifting stone" confused me at first. Were you describing literally eyes in the stone walls, like some kind of creature in the stone? Or maybe it was metaphorical, like the stone walls are ancient giants, staring down at one who traveled through the ravine. Or perhaps, it was creative imagery, like the sentences before it (bleeding glaciers, slithering river, drifting sky). Or maybe that was your intention, to make the reader reflect on the story.
Anyway, just something to think about if you're ever going to expand this wonderful idea :)