Post by ProMetaAnaTelo on Sept 2, 2010 19:23:40 GMT -5
The Mountains
High in the mountains resides a small village: Claytown. There the most creative crafters live, making clothes, sculptures, potteries, jewelry and many other valuable items. The bloodline of the mountain-born is filled with creative juices, flowing like a wild river. Those not gifted live in the flat earth below in a large farming village.
The only place of meeting between the two cultures is the watering hole near the base of the mountains-- a place for traders from each community to meet and swap goods.
---
Abel paints his flat canvas in the bright schoolroom only lite by the sun as the instructor pacing back and forth, observing the mountain youth and their work.
The entire class remains busy with varied works, no two people in the room doing the same job. Abel paints because he believes it's the easiest craft, Pablo sculpts because he's the best sculptor, Jennifer weaves bracelets, Gina etches away at a hunk of wood with her knife.
“Okay, class. Set down your utensils. It's time for our social activity.” The Instructor says, placing his clipboard down. Every other hour during the school day there is a mandatory time for social activity, because a “Community without a community is not a good community.” His instructor recites aloud.
Abel's social partner is Gina, a petite and curly-haired girl from the other side of the village. She sets down her knife and looks towards him. Returning a smile to her, she shifts her view to the instructor.
“Remember who your partners are as they'll be switched again tomorrow.” A group in the corner sighs with relief. “Gabriel! The point of the exercise is to form a tight bond with your peers and...” The voice of the instructor drifts off.
“Hey, Gina.” Abel meekly smiles.
“Hello, Abel.” Gina customarily replies.
“How's your whittling coming along?” He jokes, knowing she'd been restarting every other week because of minor mistakes.
She bites back. “How's your sculpture coming along?”
All the children of the mountains are required to complete a self-sculpture that resembles themselves, but in a creative way. There are no mirrors or water sources in the mountains that can show a person their own reflection. Nobody in the mountains knows what they themselves look like unless they go down to the watering hole-- an act which is discouraged. The exercise of ignorance is to stress creativity in one's own self-image.. They can be beautiful if they want to be, carving a beautiful sculpture before they're eighteen and raising their self-esteem.
Abel, however, hasn't finished his sculpture. Much less started it. Never before has a person of the village turned eighteen and not completed their sculpture, though there is no punishment for imcompletion.
“Heh... I'm... I'm working on it.” He laughs, nervous.
---
“Pablo!” Abel calls, peering into Pablo's window after school. He leans in, watching Pablo's near-religious maintenance of his sculpture's nose. “Still working on that old thing?” He teases, referencing Pablo's constant work on his Maturity Sculpture; a project of his since the age of thirteen.
No words are reflected back from Pablo. Abel climbs up and through the window, sitting on the sill. “So... hear about the birds flying around here? I heard they were pooping out seeds and plants from the farm village were growing around here!”
“Abel, not now. I want to make this perfect. We can talk when we're social partners again.” Pablo says, not even turning to make eye contact.
“Yeah... I just wanted to hang out.”
“Why are you so weird?”
“I... I'll just go.” He mumbles, disheartened. “See you at school.”
Abel shambles home, hurt. Around the mountain-town sit the youngest children, watching the everyday life and methods of their elders-- painting. They lay on the ground, sit on rooftops and hide under outdoor-market stalls, silently honing their painting skills while studying fruits, insects, clothing and mannerisms. These children in the mountains work the hardest, never having a social partner for school and being required to work outside of schoolroom on their skills.
Continuing on, now away from the busy streets, he passes lone people on their own way, attending whatever business they have to attend. No words are exchanged between them unless justified for legitimate purposes. Public is not a place for social activities, as those things are best kept behind doors and in the appropriate public areas, like special gatherings and schools.
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Part 1 of a short story I'm currently writing. It'll be 3 or 4 parts long, at least that's the plan.
