Wild imaginings

A paper once penned many millennia before it fell into fire. There was famine & the fire was thirsty so it drank the paper until ashes coughed up its lungs. The ashes was given wings by the gods who had also blessed the dust, the leaves, the feathers, human imagination. The ashes flew high until distance saw the dark stain in the sky & in horror declared war on war drums.


The drums trembled all through the day into the night & soon there were spears poking hides not yet dry, not yet dead. The drums approved of more skins being made & refused to be quiet about it. Soon enough other drums from different distances heard of the skinning & they too thought it was a good idea to tell the knives in their cities that a skinning was happening in a great distance.

The knives grew angry that the spears had not invited them to the skinning. They wanted to be a part of the blood, the gore, the entrails slinking through the distance. So the knives forced imagination to give them some of its wings & they flew into mayhem, a thunderhead that had separated from the storm forming above. The spears & knives clashed there & several papers carried the war to other distances.

Pens read to imagination how brutal the war was & they placed the blame on the spears. The spears blamed the drums & the drums claimed they saw the horror in the distance. The ashes was already inside the storm, consumed by wind, but a speck of ash was caught & after torture, it told of how a paper was drank by fire.

The spears & knives gathered at the fire's hut but it simply opened the forge & everyone forgot why they came. Knives needed sharpening & handles; spears needed new hafts and stronger grip. It took a millennium who had managed to survive through mouth to mouth resuscitation to tell of the paper who had began the journey. The knives and spears turned on the fire but it was prepared. It melted them into jewelries that it hung on its wall. Then it set out to find the other papers to drink so they will be more skinning.

On it journey, it arrived at a river and could not cross. It railed and threatened but the river was asleep and it was yet to awake to its full potential. The fire desperate to be about its business looked at a matchstick trying its best to be a tree & lit its buttocks. The match screamed and rolled on the tinder dry grass, which caught the scream. The scream was carried from grass to trees and a firestorm grew from there. The fire had never been that big in its life. It was so excited and it cackled with glee.

The noise rose the river from its slumber and it came for the fire. The trees were happy. The grass were starving. The fire and the river fought and the rain joined, thunder joined and the war drums agreed that it was the biggest war ever. The gods were forced to come from their holiday at the Caribbean islands to demand a ceasefire. But the fire was too big and the river was the child of the sea and the sea was angry.

The gods tried to tie the sea to its boundary but it was too late. It ate the fire, the jewelries, the paper, the pen, the war drums, dust, leaves, feathers and ashes. Imagination escaped as it had always been able to travel further than the rest. It rose into space and decided to stay with the stars until the earth was wrung dry and hung on a clothesline. The gods could not find a peg so earth fell and rotated and imagination being eager to see what was happening, made light without fire and once again, the earth was with form and it was the seventh day.

3 columns
2 columns
1 column