Storytelling time (1)
*The following story was written by Ian
A long time ago, on a small and far away island, there was once a kingdom that knew nothing of crime or poverty. Even the humblest fisherman could live like a king on this island, and upon it there was not a single person who knew what hunger felt like. The island was home to fine museums and galleries, schools and universities whose benefits were available to all. The streets were clean, lively and colourful, lined with market stalls selling fruit that had been picked that morning, fish caught just hours before, rich and elegant clothes, and crafts of great skill and intricacy. Because no one ever had to go without on this island crime was rare. Even late at night people could walk the streets in perfect safety, while in their homes, though surrounded by all manner of expensive luxuries, they had no need for locks upon their doors. It was a rich and peaceful place, a kingdom that no one ever wanted to leave, and one which those on its neighbouring islands looked towards enviously.
Late one night, beneath the cool gaze of a full moon, a boat glided silently ashore. The men who crept out of the boat had swords drawn ready to strike down anyone who tried to stop them, and as the islanders slept unawares, they tiptoed through the dark, deserted streets, furtively skulked inside the islander’s homes, and greedily eyeing the luxuries they found within, took out ragged, cloth sacks and quietly began filling them. The kingdom’s neighbours were as poor as it was rich, and suffered crime, poverty, disease and hardship. Desperation can make a person do bad things, and hearing rumours about the comfort in which their neighbours lived, the men had set out that night to take from them as much as they could. As they insatiably filled their sacks they thought about how they never need see their children go hungry again, and though they tried to be quiet, with so much wealth there for the taking, they couldn’t control their excitement. They began talking, calling out to one another, laughing and singing. The noise soon woke the islanders, but because it was a peaceful place that knew nothing of crime or fighting, the islanders were unable to defend themselves when they confronted their raiders. Those that tried were cut down, and by the time the men set sail back towards their own island, their sacks crammed to bursting with their loot, in all more than thirty people were left breathing their last in pools of warm, sticky blood.
It was under the rule of the King’s father that the island had prospered. Though strict, he had also been a wise and benevolent ruler, and for the wealth he had brought to the kingdom, he had been deeply loved by his people. The way the islanders had mourned when he died just two years before, it was as if it had been not just their monarch who had passed away, but a close and dear family member. His son however had grown up spoiled. He was lazy, and had none of his father’s intelligence or wisdom. He had impressed no one since ascending to the throne, yet as disappointed in their king as the islander’s were, no one was more disappointed in his rule than the King himself. He would think about his father’s reign, already considered a golden age in the kingdom’s history, and he would think about how it had floundered under his own sovereignty, and he would despair. He needed something to define his leadership; he needed a direction in which to take his country. The morning after the raid, as he stood on the balcony of his palace watching as his people buried their dead, he suddenly realised what that direction might be.
His father had known that wealth and happiness are as much about helping others as they are about helping oneself. He knew moreover that it is often circumstances that make people do bad things. Had he been alive, he would no doubt have tried first to understand why the raid had occurred. Discovering the poverty gripping the surrounding islands, he would then have tried to share with his neighbours the wealth and comfort his own people enjoyed, in that way ensuring no one ever need attack his own kingdom again. But not for a moment did his son consider such a path. For him, the island had been raided simply because their attackers were evil, and all he could do, he decided, was to make sure such evil could never enter his kingdom again.
Gathering his people together outside his palace one morning, the King exclaimed that never again would another drop of blood spilt while he remained their monarch. With a heart full of passion and purpose, he told them that henceforth he was devoting his reign to ensuring their safety, and that to this end he was ordering a giant wall be built around the island. Never again, he told his people, would violence be able to visit their kingdom. The islanders had been afraid ever since the night of the attack, and hearing the King’s words, they cheered. Maybe they had underestimated him, they thought. Though in peacetime he had floundered as their ruler, maybe this was his time to prove his metal. He was a simple man, everyone knew that, but in times of danger, they wondered if maybe it is not better to have a ruler who sees the world only in black and white.
Workmen laboured night and day to finish the wall, and within just three weeks it stood two metres high and encircled the entire island. Every tree on the island was cut down to build it, but although the islanders regretted the denuding of their land, they knew that such extraordinary times called for sacrifices.
Life on the island slowly returned to normal after the wall was completed. Because the islander’s once more felt safe, the night of the attack gradually faded from their memories. Stripped of its trees however, there were some he felt the island had been spoilt, and with time they began to wish that wall had never been built. They missed the fresh fruit they used to eat daily, and the cool shade the trees had provided. The wall meanwhile kept the sea breeze of the island, and they began wishing they could once more enjoy the respite from the tropical heat it offered. There might never even have been another raid, they argued. Surely it was a mistake to ruin their island paradise because of something that might never even happen.
Such complaints soon reached the King’s ear, but he could not understand why his people felt dissatisfied. He was certain their raiders were planning another attack. From the balcony of his palace he would occasionally see ships cross the horizon, and when after some time these ships once more disappeared from view, he felt no doubt that the boat had been plotting a course to loot and murder his people, but that it had turned back because of the wall he had built. He told his people as much one day, told them that though they could no longer gaze across the ocean because of the wall, from his palace he could, and that almost daily he would see ships loaded with thieves and murderers draw near, only to turn away because of the wall. Where before the islander’s had cheered him however, this time they jeered and threw rotting vegetables. He told them that they still faced tremendous danger, that it was not a question of if but when another attack would occur, but no one listened. Booed and heckled, he soon withdrew back into his palace, and once inside he began shaking and crying like a baby.
Late one night, beneath the cool gaze of a full moon, a boat glided silently ashore. The men who crept out of the boat had swords drawn ready to strike down anyone who tried to stop them, and as the islanders slept unawares, they tiptoed through the dark, deserted streets, furtively skulked inside the islander’s homes, and greedily eyeing the luxuries they found within, took out ragged, cloth sacks and quietly began filling them. The kingdom’s neighbours were as poor as it was rich, and suffered crime, poverty, disease and hardship. Desperation can make a person do bad things, and hearing rumours about the comfort in which their neighbours lived, the men had set out that night to take from them as much as they could. As they insatiably filled their sacks they thought about how they never need see their children go hungry again, and though they tried to be quiet, with so much wealth there for the taking, they couldn’t control their excitement. They began talking, calling out to one another, laughing and singing. The noise soon woke the islanders, but because it was a peaceful place that knew nothing of crime or fighting, the islanders were unable to defend themselves when they confronted their raiders. Those that tried were cut down, and by the time the men set sail back towards their own island, their sacks crammed to bursting with their loot, in all more than thirty people were left breathing their last in pools of warm, sticky blood.
It was under the rule of the King’s father that the island had prospered. Though strict, he had also been a wise and benevolent ruler, and for the wealth he had brought to the kingdom, he had been deeply loved by his people. The way the islanders had mourned when he died just two years before, it was as if it had been not just their monarch who had passed away, but a close and dear family member. His son however had grown up spoiled. He was lazy, and had none of his father’s intelligence or wisdom. He had impressed no one since ascending to the throne, yet as disappointed in their king as the islander’s were, no one was more disappointed in his rule than the King himself. He would think about his father’s reign, already considered a golden age in the kingdom’s history, and he would think about how it had floundered under his own sovereignty, and he would despair. He needed something to define his leadership; he needed a direction in which to take his country. The morning after the raid, as he stood on the balcony of his palace watching as his people buried their dead, he suddenly realised what that direction might be.
His father had known that wealth and happiness are as much about helping others as they are about helping oneself. He knew moreover that it is often circumstances that make people do bad things. Had he been alive, he would no doubt have tried first to understand why the raid had occurred. Discovering the poverty gripping the surrounding islands, he would then have tried to share with his neighbours the wealth and comfort his own people enjoyed, in that way ensuring no one ever need attack his own kingdom again. But not for a moment did his son consider such a path. For him, the island had been raided simply because their attackers were evil, and all he could do, he decided, was to make sure such evil could never enter his kingdom again.
Gathering his people together outside his palace one morning, the King exclaimed that never again would another drop of blood spilt while he remained their monarch. With a heart full of passion and purpose, he told them that henceforth he was devoting his reign to ensuring their safety, and that to this end he was ordering a giant wall be built around the island. Never again, he told his people, would violence be able to visit their kingdom. The islanders had been afraid ever since the night of the attack, and hearing the King’s words, they cheered. Maybe they had underestimated him, they thought. Though in peacetime he had floundered as their ruler, maybe this was his time to prove his metal. He was a simple man, everyone knew that, but in times of danger, they wondered if maybe it is not better to have a ruler who sees the world only in black and white.
Workmen laboured night and day to finish the wall, and within just three weeks it stood two metres high and encircled the entire island. Every tree on the island was cut down to build it, but although the islanders regretted the denuding of their land, they knew that such extraordinary times called for sacrifices.
Life on the island slowly returned to normal after the wall was completed. Because the islander’s once more felt safe, the night of the attack gradually faded from their memories. Stripped of its trees however, there were some he felt the island had been spoilt, and with time they began to wish that wall had never been built. They missed the fresh fruit they used to eat daily, and the cool shade the trees had provided. The wall meanwhile kept the sea breeze of the island, and they began wishing they could once more enjoy the respite from the tropical heat it offered. There might never even have been another raid, they argued. Surely it was a mistake to ruin their island paradise because of something that might never even happen.
Such complaints soon reached the King’s ear, but he could not understand why his people felt dissatisfied. He was certain their raiders were planning another attack. From the balcony of his palace he would occasionally see ships cross the horizon, and when after some time these ships once more disappeared from view, he felt no doubt that the boat had been plotting a course to loot and murder his people, but that it had turned back because of the wall he had built. He told his people as much one day, told them that though they could no longer gaze across the ocean because of the wall, from his palace he could, and that almost daily he would see ships loaded with thieves and murderers draw near, only to turn away because of the wall. Where before the islander’s had cheered him however, this time they jeered and threw rotting vegetables. He told them that they still faced tremendous danger, that it was not a question of if but when another attack would occur, but no one listened. Booed and heckled, he soon withdrew back into his palace, and once inside he began shaking and crying like a baby.
posted by Chenwei @ 3:27 PM
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