World Read online

  And they looked back.

  And we harbored in the bays.

  Sparkling bays opened on the wide and wild waves, opened on the wide and wild oceans (the traders and the travelers crossed them anyway.) The traders and the travelers crossed the wide and wild oceans, crossed the red waves over the deep pits, braved the wide and wild oceans. There were beauties on the other side – pretty things and people ringed the waves, ringed the waves on every side. (We crossed the wide and wild oceans to see the other side.) And we looked at them.

  And they looked back.

  And the harbors, built around the bays, built for the wild oceans, kept the peace around them. Harbors housed the travelers here, and the traders here as well (and the villains.) Open havens from the vast expanses kept the beauties safe on every side.

  And we looked out from them.

  Bridges ran across the world, ran like roads across the country.

  Bridges spanned the waters, spanned the waters and the roads and the sky – causeways that stepped up over muddy roads, unsafe crossings. They kept the travelers and the traders on their feet, kept shoes from sinking, kept the goods moving. Bridges, bustling and inviting, gave good views of open country.

  Bridges ran open under the bright skies - but not only.

  Covered bridges ran beside them.

  Covered roads above the roads ran beside the open bridges, ran beside the open causeways. Covered, they ran hooded under the sky (only the hoods were open to the sky.) Covered bridges – quiet, shady spots, sheltered and safe – tunneled over the ground. They – hooded and raised roadways – comforted the wary walkers, rested the sun-worn travelers. They peeked up from under roofed bridges, looked out from shade, looked out to the sun and over open roads.

  And we looked back.

  Then.

  Then the world darkened.

  Once, the roads were guarded.

  Guards ran like the roads: over the open country under wide sky. Markets to market, house to house, country to country, hand to hand: squinting in the sun, spotting travelers from a distance and traders in the markets and the goods in the hands, they watched along the wide and lighted rolling roads. Watched roads.

  Good roads carried them, and some roads they closed.

  Then.

  Then when the roads were closed and kept, we looked to the harbors. We looked to the harbors – safe places on the oceans' bays – and we crowded to the harbors and looked out to the bays opening on the wide and wild beyond. Travelers from the roads, from the open country, looked out from the bays – looked away from the roads running over open country, turned their backs to the guards, took to the sea roads. (Looked away from the guards – they were busy on the roads.)

  Then.

  Then the bays were guarded.

  Guards squinted on the roads, squinted farther than the roads and saw the bays. They looked up from their roads and stretched their gaze out – gazed over the safe harbors, stretched their eyes past the safe harbors, reached the wide and wild things beyond.

  Then.

  Then sparkling bays surveilled, the harbors – havens crowded now with refugees from the roads – were not havens anymore. And some of them were blockaded – bays nailed up with boards with chinks of light between. Sharp points – shivs sticking up on woods' edges – sharp points and nail heads bent in haste and splinters spiked the blockades and barred the bays.

  The wide and wild oceans were on the other side.

  Then.

  Then the bays emptied out. Closed doors and blockades pushed the people to new refuge.

  Then when the bays were emptied out, we flocked to the bridges. Fortified the causeways above the mud, above the open ground and the guards, above the blockades we crowded in. The travelers and refugees and merchants crowded in. In groups, in pairs, alone, we crowded in. More and more crowded in, (and some themselves were guards.)

  Then

  Then the bridges were choked. Choked with feet and watchful eyes, and the bridges bowed under them.

  Then when the bridges were choked with feet and watchful eyes – and bowing with the weight – we crept under them. Crept under the bridges, travelers hid in the shadows, gathered in the dark places under the beams, away from the roads, the bays, the blockades.

  Then.

  Then, the shadows under the bridges were watched. And we built more bridges and more shadows.

  The world darkened.

  Once, it was guarded.

  Guards squinted in the sun, down the roads, into the shadows. Blockades hid the sparkling bays from view. Watchful eyes hid on the burdened bridges, watched the shadows underneath. The watchers watched the world.

  We watched them, too.

  The watchful eyes were waiting – waiting along the roads, in the markets, everywhere under the open skies. Waiting for the travelers, for the traders, waiting for the goods, for the things changing hands, waiting for the trades. The waiting eyes watched the time, watched the sun passing over, over, over the world and were impatient. Impatiently the watchers watched the trades, watched the markets, watched the hands.

  And we watched them, too.

  Then.

  Then the impatient eyes lost patience.

  The impatient eyes lost patience waiting, wasting time watching. They trained themselves on targets. Prying eyes became pursuing eyes, punishing eyes. The watchers weaponized, wielded their eyes against the world. And they broke it – broke the oceans from the roads and the people from harbors and from the deep and foreign organisms and the dangers on the waves and the beauties on the other sides. The weaponized watchers watched the world.

  And we watched them, too.

  The world darkened.

  Once it was beautiful. Wide roads traversed the country, ran under the light, rolled under wheels, carried goods from here to there and back. Markets to market, house to house, country to country, hand to hand: they carried goods along the wide and lighted rolling roads. Good roads.

  Then.

  Then the people missed the world.

  Missed the open, running roads, missed the harbors, missed the bridges, missed the wide and wild oceans, the people missed their world. Not the blockaded abominations. Not the watched dirt. Not the menace of the shade. (Not that world.)

  They missed the world, undarkened.

  Then.

  Then, people made way into the world (back into the world.)

  People watched the guards, pounded fists against the blockades, fought the closing of their open world. People led themselves along the roads, over blockades, through the darkening world.

  The shadows grew cold as we looked back to the roads, but the roads were overgrown and we looked back to the bays but the bays were unkempt and we looked back to the bridges but the bridges swayed and we looked back to the shadows, but the shadows trembled.

  So we built more.

  Author

  Blythe, Aelius: (1987–)

  North American scribe, timid, nomadic. Female of the species H. sapiens. Also wrote:

  Stories About Things

  CEASA