Post by mswrite on Dec 2, 2007 19:17:55 GMT -8
This is about two years old. I won a writing contest at my high school with it, but who knows how tough the competition was...there weren't many entrants. Of all my short stories that he's read, which is all those I've ever written except for one, my dad says this is my best. I'm not sure I agree...but that's ok. It's nice to be appreciated! anyways, here you go.
For as long as anyone could remember, and all the way back through the history books, there had been sand. White sand, shimmering and undulating in dunes for as far as the eye could see. Tiny grains falling from yellow-brown sky, to all the edges of the world, to all sides where the endless clear walls caught the sunlight and broke it into massive, beautiful beams of color.
Only one man had ever been to these walls. He had journeyed many months through the ever-falling sand, once falling ill and nearly being buried by it while he slept. When he had finally reached the walls, he had studied them unceasingly: touching, staring, tasting, climbing, and walking. He had come back with a full report. They were clear, he said, but you knew they were there, for the gleamed. Sometimes he could see himself in them, as one sees oneself in water. He had followed alongside them for many days, searching for a door, a window, some way through, but had found nothing. He could not see much on the other side, just gray everywhere. When he returned, he’d written a book: The Edge of the World. It was all about his journey, how he could only sleep for two hours at a time or he’d be buried. That was why, he said, they were lucky to be so civilized, to have developed the technology to raise the buildings at the same pace that the sand rose, so they would never be buried. His book had joined the scores of others on the library shelves.
They had many books, mostly history books of their civilization, but a few, a very select few, were from ancient times, from B.S. Before Sand. No one really believed what was in those books. That children attended a place called “school” to learn “reading, writing, and arithmetic”? The children learned without such “schools”. And what odd names for descrolling, scrolling, and numbering. No one really believed that B.S. time had ever existed. A life without sand? Impossible.
But there were also a few people, strange people, who did believe it. They believed that soon the sand would slow, and one day, stop, and the walls would be gone. They said that the civilization needed to expand, to build up out near the walls, so that when they dissolved, they could leave to the world outside the walls. But no one believed them, so no one listened.
The old books also described a strange phenomenon called “weather”. Strong “winds” blew, and water fell from the sky. The winds were said to be gusts of air—no one understood what that meant, not even the scientists. Moving air?
And water falling? Water was scarce. It wasn’t even real. It was a substance simulated in the labs, used to keep the crops grown in the greenhouses alive.
All these things were myths, lies made up by writers who wished to become rich and famous. Maybe they had in their day, many years ago, inventing stories of days when sand had not been, they would be respected, even feared. Now they were ignored and scorned.
Adam was one of them, the ignored and the scorned. Adam believed in wind and rain, in a land without falling sand, a land of schools for all children, and he believed that one day they would be released into this world. Adam had been monitoring the falling of the sand for fifteen years now. Just a few weeks ago, he had noticed a slight change: The rate and amount of the sand that fell was dropping. It was such a miniscule change that only the machines had picked it up, but they were his machines, so he, too, had noticed. And as the weeks had progressed the changes continued, each time on a larger scale. Soon others would notice. How soon? He couldn’t predict. It would depend on how observant the person was. However, he suspected that by the time the changes had reached a twenty-five percent drop, people would have noticed.
He was right. Soon, people began talking. They whispered, for fear of being overheard half-believing the idiotic ideas. Those who did believe them and had always believed them simply waited, watching the signs.
Within two months, the torrents of sand pouring from above had slowed to a trickle in only one spot: the center of the town. Elsewhere, no sand fell, and the once-essential mechanisms that controlled the rising of the buildings were disabled. Everyone monitored the small column of sand in the center of town, but Adam paid it the most attention, camping there day in and day out, waiting as it lessened.
Children were laughing and playing on the dunes, oblivious to the adults’ worry. They were glad to be able to play without the sand in their eyes and chafing their faces.
Adults went about their usual schedules, yet each movement was tentative and careful, as though they were afraid their chairs would disappear from beneath them.
And they did.
As Adam sat, watching, he saw one tiny grain falling from above.
No more.
Just one. The last.
In the instant it hit the ground, Adam felt himself hit the ground, his chair disappearing, the sand vanishing around him. All the buildings around him simply ceased to be, snuffed like the flame of a candle. But the people inside them remained, many falling to the ground as Adam did, their bodies hitting with a synchronized thump.
A deafening silence followed. Children’s mouths gaped; the smiles left their eyes; their laughter ceased. The silence was broken only by the cry of an infant somewhere in the distance.
All eyes moved to Adam. Then, they began looking around.
The old books had lied. True, there was no sand. There was gray ash, and hard, cold dirt. No green grass, as promised. The sky was not blue. It was a harsh gray. There was no wind.
There were people. Bleak, gaunt faces, their bodies distorted, their ribs showing. They were starving, and they were dying.
The sand people did not know that they would soon look like that. They did not know that each breath they took of the poisonous air would mean one less breath before their last. They did not know that they, too, would soon be malformed by toxic food and water, with their eyes sunken in their heads; their hair and skin sucked of their luster and shine. Nor did they know that soon the old and the weak, and those who would refuse the simple foods offered to them, would be lying on the ground as alive as the skeletons of once majestic skyscrapers that surrounded them.
Adam smiled. He did know. He had always known that this would happen, and always known that he was right. He had been the only one among them who had known the world before their imprisonment, when they lived in the real world of blue sky and green grass, of snow and rain, of sunsets and eclipses, before disaster had reduced the world to poison, ash, and a few thousand deprived people.
He had been the one who had imprisoned them in the hourglass long ago, as a punishment for the wrongdoings that he no longer remembered.
For as long as anyone could remember, and all the way back through the history books, there had been sand. White sand, shimmering and undulating in dunes for as far as the eye could see. Tiny grains falling from yellow-brown sky, to all the edges of the world, to all sides where the endless clear walls caught the sunlight and broke it into massive, beautiful beams of color.
Only one man had ever been to these walls. He had journeyed many months through the ever-falling sand, once falling ill and nearly being buried by it while he slept. When he had finally reached the walls, he had studied them unceasingly: touching, staring, tasting, climbing, and walking. He had come back with a full report. They were clear, he said, but you knew they were there, for the gleamed. Sometimes he could see himself in them, as one sees oneself in water. He had followed alongside them for many days, searching for a door, a window, some way through, but had found nothing. He could not see much on the other side, just gray everywhere. When he returned, he’d written a book: The Edge of the World. It was all about his journey, how he could only sleep for two hours at a time or he’d be buried. That was why, he said, they were lucky to be so civilized, to have developed the technology to raise the buildings at the same pace that the sand rose, so they would never be buried. His book had joined the scores of others on the library shelves.
They had many books, mostly history books of their civilization, but a few, a very select few, were from ancient times, from B.S. Before Sand. No one really believed what was in those books. That children attended a place called “school” to learn “reading, writing, and arithmetic”? The children learned without such “schools”. And what odd names for descrolling, scrolling, and numbering. No one really believed that B.S. time had ever existed. A life without sand? Impossible.
But there were also a few people, strange people, who did believe it. They believed that soon the sand would slow, and one day, stop, and the walls would be gone. They said that the civilization needed to expand, to build up out near the walls, so that when they dissolved, they could leave to the world outside the walls. But no one believed them, so no one listened.
The old books also described a strange phenomenon called “weather”. Strong “winds” blew, and water fell from the sky. The winds were said to be gusts of air—no one understood what that meant, not even the scientists. Moving air?
And water falling? Water was scarce. It wasn’t even real. It was a substance simulated in the labs, used to keep the crops grown in the greenhouses alive.
All these things were myths, lies made up by writers who wished to become rich and famous. Maybe they had in their day, many years ago, inventing stories of days when sand had not been, they would be respected, even feared. Now they were ignored and scorned.
Adam was one of them, the ignored and the scorned. Adam believed in wind and rain, in a land without falling sand, a land of schools for all children, and he believed that one day they would be released into this world. Adam had been monitoring the falling of the sand for fifteen years now. Just a few weeks ago, he had noticed a slight change: The rate and amount of the sand that fell was dropping. It was such a miniscule change that only the machines had picked it up, but they were his machines, so he, too, had noticed. And as the weeks had progressed the changes continued, each time on a larger scale. Soon others would notice. How soon? He couldn’t predict. It would depend on how observant the person was. However, he suspected that by the time the changes had reached a twenty-five percent drop, people would have noticed.
He was right. Soon, people began talking. They whispered, for fear of being overheard half-believing the idiotic ideas. Those who did believe them and had always believed them simply waited, watching the signs.
Within two months, the torrents of sand pouring from above had slowed to a trickle in only one spot: the center of the town. Elsewhere, no sand fell, and the once-essential mechanisms that controlled the rising of the buildings were disabled. Everyone monitored the small column of sand in the center of town, but Adam paid it the most attention, camping there day in and day out, waiting as it lessened.
Children were laughing and playing on the dunes, oblivious to the adults’ worry. They were glad to be able to play without the sand in their eyes and chafing their faces.
Adults went about their usual schedules, yet each movement was tentative and careful, as though they were afraid their chairs would disappear from beneath them.
And they did.
As Adam sat, watching, he saw one tiny grain falling from above.
No more.
Just one. The last.
In the instant it hit the ground, Adam felt himself hit the ground, his chair disappearing, the sand vanishing around him. All the buildings around him simply ceased to be, snuffed like the flame of a candle. But the people inside them remained, many falling to the ground as Adam did, their bodies hitting with a synchronized thump.
A deafening silence followed. Children’s mouths gaped; the smiles left their eyes; their laughter ceased. The silence was broken only by the cry of an infant somewhere in the distance.
All eyes moved to Adam. Then, they began looking around.
The old books had lied. True, there was no sand. There was gray ash, and hard, cold dirt. No green grass, as promised. The sky was not blue. It was a harsh gray. There was no wind.
There were people. Bleak, gaunt faces, their bodies distorted, their ribs showing. They were starving, and they were dying.
The sand people did not know that they would soon look like that. They did not know that each breath they took of the poisonous air would mean one less breath before their last. They did not know that they, too, would soon be malformed by toxic food and water, with their eyes sunken in their heads; their hair and skin sucked of their luster and shine. Nor did they know that soon the old and the weak, and those who would refuse the simple foods offered to them, would be lying on the ground as alive as the skeletons of once majestic skyscrapers that surrounded them.
Adam smiled. He did know. He had always known that this would happen, and always known that he was right. He had been the only one among them who had known the world before their imprisonment, when they lived in the real world of blue sky and green grass, of snow and rain, of sunsets and eclipses, before disaster had reduced the world to poison, ash, and a few thousand deprived people.
He had been the one who had imprisoned them in the hourglass long ago, as a punishment for the wrongdoings that he no longer remembered.
