Links to my Books

Links to My Writings

Third Daughters at Smashwords
Meditations on Maintenance for the Kindle
Memoirs of a Super Criminal for the Kindle, Nook or Smashwords
One Year in the Mountains for the Kindle, Nook or Smashwords
Adventures of Erkulys & Uryon for the Kindle and Nook

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

Almonds in the Wind.


            When giants tread on the miniature villages of the little people who live far, far below, they never hear the screams. Not even if they listened intently could they hear the screams of the little people. For to them, the little people never exist. They can’t exist. It is impossible, incomprehensible for there to be anyone else but themselves. Giant are giants and there are only giants. Little people are not, cannot be.

So are you a giant or a little person? Do you walk with a might stride killing fields and acres with each compression of the foot on earth? Does the earth shake with your coming and exhale liquid death once you have passed? Or are you the forgotten lot, those who cannot be, yet are? Does it matter? Can it matter? Giants will never know, never see the little people and therefore never pay them any heed. No matter what the little people do, no edifice, no construct will ever be seen by the giants. No matter how grandiose the project may appear to the little people it pales in comparison to the might and length of the giants. And so, what to do?

“Ha,” you cry, “that is a false analogy, an untrue metaphor. You speak lies in order to deceive. I have never seen a giant.”

“Ha,” you cry, “that is a false analogy, an untrue metaphor. You speak lies in order to deceive. I have never seen a little person.”

So speaker, are you a giant so you can see none larger than yourself, or are you giant that cannot see the little people? Or are you a little person repressing the largesse about you? Or maybe you are right. Maybe I am crazy, confused, turned inside out and hung to dry on the willow tree that smells like almonds, planted in the vineyard of the gods in order to trap the sheep in a state of perpetual confusion. Are you confused; are you a lost sheep drawn to the scent of almonds?

Ha, Ha. Now I have you. 

Here is a story that I wrote some years ago. 
Copyright 2011 David Corbet

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