Story

Many years ago, Earth was a simpler place. There were hunters and gatherers and medicine men, and all lived in peace. Death was accepted with humility, and there was a sense of kinship between man and nature.

There was a hunter who lived in a village on the edge of the world, where the evergreen trees grew lush and plentiful. The ocean seemed to stretch out as far as the villagers’ eyes could see, and the mountain peaks were covered in snow all year. The hunter loved to explore this vast and varied landscape whenever he was not hunting. He only hunted the birds, mammals and fish he needed to feed his wife and four children; he never once shot a creature for sport or out of the need to relieve stress or sadness. Stress and sadness were not things that the hunter knew anything about.

The hunter left his hut a little while before sunset one day. He had a feeling that something was waiting for him in the woods, and he, with his naive enthusiasm, couldn’t strap his bow on his back fast enough. He strode through the woods he knew so well, breathing in the clean crisp air. He could hear birds in the clearing up ahead, and he knew his wife would want something to prepare for tomorrow’s supper. As he approached the clearing, he thought he heard voices- parents and children laughing together, conversing. He could see no humans, though, and did not pause to think this odd.

He stood and took a few deep breaths, absorbing the stillness of the forest that surrounded him. Before long, a handsome black bird flew down from one of the evergreens. It was large and had very glossy feathers and glowing red eyes, and it cooed in a low tone that sounded almost as though it was speaking. The bird did not seem to notice the hunter as he took aim, nor did it see the hunter slowly draw closer to it, taking care not to step on any leaves.

The bird did not notice the arrow as it streaked towards it, the dwindling sunlight glinting off the arrowhead. The arrow sank into the bird’s chest like a missile finding its target.

The creature flopped to the ground without a sound. Blood started to seep from the wound, and the bird’s red eye stared without seeing at the hunter, losing its crimson gleam. The hunter exhaled and started to make his way across the clearing, humming quietly. To him, this was just a way to feed his family; he did not think of it as wrong in any way.

When he was about halfway across, however, he thought he heard something. A distant screaming. The screaming grew louder and closer with every breath the hunter took. He looked up and saw what looked like a black fog descending upon the clearing. He gulped.

‘HOW DARE YOU!’ A female voice screeched.

The hunter was aghast. What was happening?

A pale woman with shiny black hair and burgundy eyes stepped from the feathery whirlwind onto the ground; her expression was one of fury and deep sorrow. She knelt down and took the bird’s body in her arms.

‘Who are you? Where did you come from? What… or who is this bird?’ the hunter asked.

‘I come from a distant planet. Many catastrophes have happened there in the last few centuries, and they have made our home unlivable. Some of our people, including my family, come occasionally to Earth to seek reprieve from the pain and evil that plagues our world. We usually masquerade as trees when we come here but we wanted to move around this time, so we became birds.’

‘So this… this creature. He is part of your family?’

‘You killed my son.’

‘I…’ the hunter was dumbstruck.

‘You have hurt me, and now I must hurt you.’

Please don’t take my children from me! Hurt me, but let no harm come to them.’

‘I need not resort to killing to hurt you, human. I will tell you some truths… they should suffice.’

The hunter closed his eyes, unable to believe what was happening.

‘Not everyone you meet is your friend. Not every food you eat is good for you. Most of the stars you see in the night sky are dead; they died long ago. You are alone, you were born alone, you will die alone. The leaders you trust are corrupt and selfish. Everyone you meet is selfish, in some way or another. The illnesses you humans carry are a punishment for all the evil and pain you inflict upon the world. You will all die. Your lives will amount to nothing.’

The black- haired woman looked up at the hunter with hateful eyes, and scoffed at his horrified expression. ‘It’s about time someone told you humans all this. This land, this earth, this universe…. They are not as pure and welcoming as you all think. There is danger out there, there is hatred. There is despair and destruction, and there is evil.’

As the hunter stood agape, unable to fathom what she was saying, she threw her hood over her hair, screeched in anguish once more and disappeared in a flurry of smoke and glossy black feathers.

The hunter sank to his knees. The bird lay a few feet in front of him, blood seeping from its cooling body. Soon there was a pool of blood around him.

The hunter shuddered and rose after some time, a new emptiness in his eyes. He stepped over the bird as he walked back towards the village, the setting sun seeming to set his silhouette ablaze.

The hunter told his wife what had happened in the woods. She told her sister, who spread the word faster than a hummingbird’s wings can beat. As this news swept across first their land then others, despair and anguish blanketed the world in a bleak mist. Much was made of how true the woman’s words had been, and debates over the words soon turned to arguments, which turned into wars. People fought to protect their families from the woman’s words, but the more they struggled, the truer they seemed to be. There was destruction and needless hatred, and countless beings, human and otherwise, lost themselves in the fray. Thus evil became a part of humans’ psyches; a hunter’s simple mistake cost him his innocence and the happiness of so many others.

Humans have, of course, learned to deal with this crushing knowledge; one way in which we do so is by creating and sharing stories. Stories, based on both fact and fiction, allow humans to imagine beyond reason, to think up a world where anything is possible. Stories allow humans to explore all that seems impossible, and they allow us to feel that perhaps there is a point to this life, that it is not as bleak as the black- haired woman claimed.

Commentary

I spent a lot of time agonizing over details when it came to the above story. I read it out to several friends who enjoyed it, and offered constructive criticism as well, some of which I agreed with (the story originally involved a woodcutter and a tree, instead of a hunter and a bird). I always write in a rushed flurry of thoughts, then go back and tweak things, adding, subtracting and embellishing as I see fit. Something I found interesting about writing this story was how clearly I was able to visualize every scene of the story, almost as though a movie was playing in my head and I was simply transcribing what was going on.

Overall, I really enjoyed this assignment. I found it to be demonstrative of the fact that so much of the stories we tell are made up of things that linger in our psyches. Experience is the most essential thing to telling a story and letting it evolve and grow in an organic, unforced manner- if humans did not have new experiences (mentally, spiritually, physically, emotionally), we would just be telling the same stories over and over again until the end of time. Thankfully, this is not the case.

Closing, as always, with a quote, this time from author Philip Pullman: ‘After nourishment, shelter and companionship, stories are the thing we need most in the world.’ As I mentioned at the end of my story, stories are invaluable, not just because they help facilitate the exercise of human imagination, but also because they help alleviate the fear and tension that can be caused by facing ideas such as the existence of evil and the concept of the far- reaching abyss.

 

Works Cited

Bird and Arrow. N.d. Buenito: Visual Communication and Creative Thinking. Web. 29 May 2015.

Pullman, Philip. “About Philip Pullman.” Philip Pullman. N.p., n.d. Web. 29 May 2015.

“Quotable Quote by Philip Pullman.” Goodreads. N.p., n.d. Web. 29 May 2015.