Chaos spoke unto Cosmos

A rabbit and a hare sit in a river boat, coasting along.

“The river is mine,” says the rabbit. “See how it follows the grooves in the Earth.”                                                                                                                

“I think the river is mine,” says the hare. “See how there is no reason to it.”

“That’s not fair. None of it has reason.”

“Then we are in agreement.”

The boat sways as the river drags it along. It moves languidly, with no purpose. The vessel is constructed from an unknown wood. By an unnamed carpenter. The streaks in its woodgrain have patterns which mimic the branching rivers and tributaries which it may traverse.

It is said to be more of a raft than a proper river boat. The planks lay flat on the water, held tightly together by strong and fibrous leaves. A certain rabbit, and its friend the hare, have been on the raft for quite a while. It bobs in the water. The sun rises and falls in tandem. The water twists and winds and trudges like the magma far beneath it. The rabbit and its hare suffer the elements without complaint. They don’t know why they travel so far, or in such direction, but only that this is their purpose.

All the rabbit needs is a purpose in order to be content.

The hare does not believe in such things, but is content all the same.

The sun reaches midday now. It suspends itself directly overhead, like a searing, yellow eye. The wind, which skims the surface of the water, staves off some of the heat. Airflow is a kindness at this time. Or maybe just an occurrence. In either case, the relief is often appreciated. The wind is a fickle sort of ally. It is more than welcome on this midday, especially being the summer solstice. But in the winter, it bites at the skin.

“Am I useless then?” says the rabbit.

The hare doesn’t know whether to spare the feelings of a friend or speak the truth. It doesn’t even know if it knows the truth. “We are both useless.”

The rabbit perceives the answer as wholly earnest. It doesn’t believe in lies after all. This trait leaves it quite vulnerable to corruption, but it has yet to encounter such a thing. It will one day face nether beings, and be grossly unprepared.

But for now the rabbit is fine and pure. It scratches at its short, white fur with one leg. And it nibbles at the air with little rodent teeth. Other than these few actions, the thing sits stock still, surveying the river through the little, red beads on either side of its head.

The rabbit thinks itself beautiful, and assumes it was created by some mother being equally as beautiful. It can’t be sure, of course. Its only memory is the river and the raft. Winding and rising and dipping among the dark waters. But it thinks the body of a rabbit is divine, and is therefore by design. These thoughts, however, never bring an end to the river, which stretches on like taffy. And it never gives the rabbit a clue as to what it is looking for. Out on the blue horizon.

“Do you even like my company?” says the rabbit.

“I have to,” says the hare.

“Because it was meant to be?”

The hare perceives the question as wholly ignorant. It doesn’t believe in destiny after all. This trait leaves it quite bitter to faith, and it has yet to encounter such a thing. It will one day face nether beings, in fact, and be grossly apathetic.

And for now the hare is mangy and thin. It twitches its head and ears, unable to force will into its own muscles. Persistently, it bites at its itching fur with long teeth. Other than these few ticks, the thing paces restlessly across the raft, surveying the river through the round, black beads on either side of its head.

The hare thinks itself ugly, and assumes it was created by the unpredictable tides of nature. It can’t be sure, of course. Its only memory is the river and the raft. Winding and rising and dipping among the dark waters. But it thinks the body of a hare is unruly, and is therefore created by chance. These thoughts, however, never bring an end to the river, which stretches on like taffy. And it never gives the hare a clue as to what it is looking for. In the depths of the water.

“I think we’re approaching an end soon,” says the hare. The dread of the notion feels out of place amidst the clear, sunny skies.

“What makes you say that?”

“Just a feeling.”

The hare is disappointed with this feeling. It does enjoy the company of its rabbit friend, and feels their time together is in grave jeopardy.

If they truly reach the end, will they finally part ways? It seems like destiny, but only the rabbit believes in that. After much thought, the hare realizes it believes in choice, will, despite the very unwilful twitching of its head and ears. It is quite hopeless, however, for it knows the rabbit will not agree. The rabbit and the hare are scarcely in agreement.

Can one live in the absence of the other? The rabbit might get eaten. The hare might drown in the riverbed. There is no one else to keep them company.

Nobody.

Sunlight glistens whitely on the river surface. It exposes all the uniform peaks and valleys of the waves. The river pulls at the raft, and the raft drags against the flow of the river. The water darkens the wood. The wood ripples the water. But neither the river nor the raft have any thoughts about each other. Their bodies are affected easily. The rapids may destroy the raft, and the river will be none the wiser. Still, neither has an opinion on the matter.

They hold no bearing on the concern with allies and enemies. That is a concern reserved for the rabbit and the hare.

The rabbit and the hare don’t quite behave like allies or enemies. They don’t take much action at all. The one shared belief between the two is that they will happen upon something new. A creature. Or a body. Or a being. One that talks, walks, eats, or all of the above. It is a rather optimistic belief, to which the hare is not often prone, but they hold onto it all the same.

It’s all they can think to find at the end of this ride.

And the ride is indeed approaching a hiccup, so to speak. A mighty wind picks up as if it is the lung of the Earth. A great exhale. The water rushes anxiously, like blood through a vein. For the heart is near. Beating and drumming. The pulsing of the sun and sky join in the low music.

The world is all too bright.

A dark mass quickly approaches, bending over the horizon like a vast cloud. But the sky is clear. The mass is a mere outlet of the river. A saltwater bay, perhaps. For the first time, the rabbit and the hare witness the magnificence of the sea.

Unlike the river, its water is black and stretches out in every direction. Salt and dampness dominate its surrounding air. Its waves follow no grooves in the Earth. They crash into each other in the spirit of a massive, glistening war, where the blood flow is simply a green, ocean foam. It is like a massacre to the rabbit.

It is like liberation to the hare.

The raft reaches the last border into the dark and unknowable. It pauses and spins and bobs, as if awaiting instruction.

Storm clouds build on the horizon. The suns sinks behind them and leaves a coldness. Not a desolate cold, but an invigorating one. A lightning strike burns a white streak into the evening sky.

“Should we try the land?” asks the hare.

“No,” says the rabbit. “Let’s see where the water takes us.”