SOIL

Micro-Fiction by M. W. Wilson

It was from the soil that they had thrown themselves up, into the wind, to spread thinly over the broad horizon. Many had fallen back to the soil, and remained. There were the few that scattered out as far as the sea that churned – and sailed over the dark abyss. Ultimately, they fell to the waters and sank to its depths, back to the soil. From where they came, they were there returned. Yet still, there were others. Others that swept up to the stars and beyond.

From the heavens, the others became watchers, careful not to fall back to the soil. They adopted the void. The silence. The darkness. The peace. With time, the watchers grew in wisdom and became as vast as they were significant. Though, apart from the soil the watchers were, a part of the soil remained within.

Across the universe the watchers ventured. Travelers, mere particles, drifted across infinity. The voyage was grand, until fate had warped the time and distance between the stars. The travelers found themselves at the end, where they had begun. Watchers they were; again, witnesses to the revolving soil before them.

The watchers wept at the sight of the soil. The soil had scarred, the abyss was dry, and the wind was absent. Those who roamed the soil, were few. Wisdom was not attained by the few that had dwelled on the scarred soil. Their minds were weak, their time was short, and against themselves – they directed their rage.

The watchers descended near to the soil. There, they reached down to the few, those that tried to rise up in the absent wind, to flee. Yet, the burden of the few weighed down the watchers, and the few had turned against these others – others that failed to save them.

In the end, fate had betrayed the others, and the others – fell back to the soil.