The Tumbling Sun

Have you ever wondered what would happen if the sun decided to never return after falling to the ground? If it were to leave humanity in the darkness of solitude and take her brilliant shine to another group of lucky apes? I imagine that we’d crumble, mankind, fall apart from our very base and reduce ourselves to some decrepit creature of the night, hunting whatever misfortunate prey would find itself in the way of our solemn wrath. It’d be like that, in the blink of an eye, no change for explanation or examination. Man to beast in an instant. 

I have nightmares about that now. I wake up in the safety of my village, surrounded by loving neighbors and well-fed peoples, and shudder at how it would all change. Death, looting, and betrayal on a bloody, familial level. Do these nightmares not have a right to haunt a chief? Should I not take them seriously and regard them as signals? 

*

I wake early, shaking off the vicious hauntings and continue onto my dutiful day. It’s a big day for us, the village, we celebrate our first full festival, and thus there is much to be done on my end. I rise without alerting my wife, who is sleeping delicately and with a faint, curving smile. I look at it, the mischievous, petite arch of her lips and wonderful small dimples of her face, and I decide to take the daring risk of stroking the side of her face, and feel the warmth of her rosy cheeks. It makes me smile in pity. 

The festival is set to be a grand feast, celebrating our guest of honor and bestowing what little pleasantries our small, youthful hamlet can manage onto her. I set myself to the fields before the sun rises, as there is much to be done.

* 

It’s a brutal effort, taming the earth’s mushy flesh. The very soil that was once ashen and barren is now fertile and filling with sustenance that will feed our village. I try to not notice the sunrise, but its warming beams still collide with my face only heighten my fears. 

Time ticks on and eventually the other farmers join me, we cooperate in a streaming dance and say not a word to each other, but we all move as a unit, transcending the one and forming a working creature that harvests the field with swift deafness. We celebrate a good morning by gathering under one of the farmer's roofs, and enjoying each other's company. They ask me how governance and mayoral duties go, I tell them with a feigned smile that it goes well, and that our future is undoubtedly bright. I don’t tell them of my fears, or of the nightmares that accompany me every night when the sun leaves.

As I move on I see it again, it greets me like some woeful companion with every arch of my neck, its spears of light stab the cold shadows and shines on the rolling landscape. Like a bear cub it represents an inherent beauty and love, but the possibility for future destruction, I again duck my head and walk on.

*  

I move on to organizing the festivities, we set up tents and flags, we paint the walls of houses and we layout games for the kids. It was a delightful and warm time, chatting with the women and chasing after the children while wearing a real smile. It would be moments like that that would remind me of why I chose this life. But I again look up at the sun, as it passes the midpoint of the day and begins its fated fall, and I worry deeply. 

As the afternoon rolls into the evening it becomes time for everyone to join in companionship. We set up the food, we gather the drinks, we watch the kids play more games, we laugh, we dance, we gather hands and run in circles, we delight under the watching sun, that ever setting sun. 

Then comes the time of tradition, and predetermined activities. The kids put on a play that replicates the history of our young village. It’s a docile, youthful retelling that remembers none of the violence and all of the majesty. As they decorate themselves in haphazard face paint and dance across the stage with stumbling giggles, I cannot help but see the beautiful golden sunshine on their faces, and paint them with the color of a sunset. 

*

Finally, we arrive at the feast. We adorn the tables in the highest honors, stacking plates and platters of food so high that you can’t reach the tops, we fill our cups to their bubbling brims and season our foods like kings would in their castles. Wonderful tastes fill the air and incite the lust of gluttony in everyone's blossoming stomachs. It’s that magical time of the day where the elation has reached its peak, and everyone is suspended in the warm air of fine company and finer drinks, familial smiles of close friends kiss the immediate view and the feeling of love on its tippy-toes is all that one can experience.

It is then my time, I must fulfill my duties as chief mayor and give a proper start to our fantastic meal. It is preordained that I give a history of our small hamlet before welcoming our guest of honor, only then can we rejoice in our food and enjoy a new year of pleasantries. 

*

I rise to my feet, raising my empty cup with an empty smile and command the attention of my fellow citizens. I am to tell the real story of our village, not the childish play that the children dance to, or the ones so often retold that are covered by embellishment or lies. 

I tell my friends about a time of misfortune. About a time when we once marched into this valley and were met not by the wonderful scenes that we see today, but by terrible grievances and bloody violence. I tell them of a time when all we knew was that awful sight of sickly, white ribs of children poking through their delicate skin, a time when there were more widows than wives, when our beloved theatre house once kept spears and swords, when our graveyards were bigger than our fields, and when the sun never shined on us. 

I tell them all of this with tears in my eyes. I then tell them of our true inception, when, in all this agony, we were met by a savior. From the woods, decorated in all white and adorned with the brightest smile I’d ever seen in my life, a woman walked out. This woman claimed to have the spirits inside of her, spirits that could save our dying village and bring us into the sun of fortune. In desperation, we agreed to her help, and she blessed our lands with wonderful prosperity. She told us that this glory would last for fifty years, and that at the end of those years she’d reappear to again bless the village and allow us to continue to live in peace.

Now, as we all gather around the table, with large smiles and happy stomachs, we look into the woods for our guest of honor. The end of the table is positioned right where she first emerged, and ready for her presence. The children eagerly await to ask her questions about her magic, and the adults yearn to show their thankfulness to such a kind savior. But as we sit at the table, after spending months toiling away to show that we can work, I cannot help but look at the sun, disappearing behind the shrouded horizon, and think that I won’t see it again for a long long time.