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snippet of Magic
On a Magical wonderful island
In the not too distant future a group of people find themselves on a magical wonderful island.
They are the lone survivors.
A mighty explosion, with such force and power never before seen, picked up the Earth and hurled it through the heavens like a tennis ball.
For many days they drift. And now have come here, to an insignificant dot. A land with midnight blue waters, perfectly pewter skies and clouds spun from silk.
The survivors wander around the island dazed and bewildered. They look at each other, their eyes form questions yet no words take shape.
Suddenly, they notice something quite odd. They have no color. Their eyes are still blue, brown or green-their hair retains its texture and color. But their skin is blank. No hues, no shade-nothing. All of them absent of color.
Their shock and confusion holds them firm in the center of the magical wonderful island.
Fear swoops down with wings of gloom and dread and gives chase. The survivors scatter. In every direction they run. There is no expression for their feelings and they flee in silence. They seek shelter, yet find none. Search for an escape and find none. No matter where they run, all paths led them back to the center of the magical wonderful island.
There they are, standing as before, gripped now in the icy claws of Fear and Anger.
Fear beckons Anger. These two invisible and wicked foes fight above the heads of the survivors.
Soon their voices return. Shouts echo. Many pick up whatever is close and throw it-aiming at
nothing. The shouts grow yet are empty, for there is nothing to fill them. Survivors huddle together,
dividing the center of the island.
It is a queer sight. These people, absent of color, shouting and throwing things. But people often act strangely when in the middle of a battle between Fear and Anger.
While in the midst of this confusion, Night comes in and takes her place in the Grand Palace of time.
Ever so slowly, she unravels her long dark hair. One by one she removes the stars. Quietly, her gown cascades down covering the survivors in darkness. In unison they look up in the dark star filled sky. Night blows a kiss in the wind and the air grows cold.
While the battle between Fear and Anger rages on, survivors try to keep warm. A fire blazes in the center of the magical wonderful island. Many wonder how it got there, yet not long, for the air was growing colder. They brake free from their groups and slowly move towards the warmth. But not all. Some remain on the edge, preferring the cold.
In the battle of Fear and Anger there can be many casualties one of which is indifference.
Five of six survivors remain in the shadows. The others gather around the fire and make a circle. A few times they glance towards the shadows but their eyes do not stay. Quickly their vision returns to the flames. The survivors wrap themselves in the warmth and soon are asleep. The ground is soft and plush-sleep is easy.
In the realm of darkness, Night relaxes in her throne, adjusts the moon and surveys her quiet
"All is well," she sighs.
Night calls her stars to dance. Raising her right arm she conducts the symphony of evening. Night spreads her gown evenly in the sky and rests.
Soon there is a knock at the palace doors. Slowly, Night rises-it is Day. At the doorway, in the Grand Palace of Time, Night and Day embrace. Their shadows create Dawn. Night welcomes Day to the throne. Carefully she pulls up her long dark hair. As she does, Day eases his way to the throne. Pieces of his glory shine through Nights' receding hair. Night calls the stars, some still lagging behind in the sky. She scolds them laughingly and one by one they return. She carefully picks them up and starts to pull up her gown. Slowly Night rises, pins the stars to her gown, a final stretch. Night beckons Day to take his place on the throne in the Grand Palace of Time.
Day gently moves his massive bulk to the throne. Leans down towards the sky, weaves a few clouds from his silken hair. He places one in each corner. Settling back in the throne, he props his feet in the trees-nudging the birds from their nests. With his mighty voice, commands them to rise from their slumber and greet his reign properly. At once the birds obey. Their songs fill the quiet sky with movement. Day is pleased. He stretches out his mighty arms, places them behind his head and laughs. Dawns' shadow retreats with the echo of Days' laughter ringing through the silence. He surveys his kingdom. "All is well," he sighs.
He begins to make himself comfortable. Stretches out in the throne, pulls his arms over his head and spreads out his fingers. His brilliance rains down through the clouds. It is morning.
The light of Day shines on the sleeping survivors. His song starts slowly, the melody rising to the center of the sky. One by one the survivors wake.
Perhaps this is just a dream. Their silent thoughts fill the vastness in unison, collide with mornings' song and vanish. Slowly their eyes adjust to Days' brilliance. Their reality uncovering the fleeting wonder of their dreams.
"Where is this place?" The question came from no one in particular.
The midnight blue waters call, and many take a swim. Others remain where they slept and gaze up into the perfectly pewter skies.
Days' reign is long and soon the survivors grow hungry.
"We should search for food." It is not a question-more of a command. Standing on a pile of rocks, in the place the fire had been, a tall man spoke. "Wherever this place is, it’s obvious we're going to be here awhile. Let's split up and look for anything edible. The trees are bound to have fruit. We can make traps and weapons for any animals. Others can gather wood. We might not be as lucky this evening, whoever built that fire, may not come back tonight." Instructions given, he climbs down from the rocks. The others look to one another-stunned.
Anger peers down from her perch, readies for the attack. She leans precariously over the edge and waits. Yet the words that would fuel her flight did not come. Anger relaxes on her perch and returns to her nest...