October 22, 2011

Tectonic Folly Folk Ballad

The building cried and wept when it wanted to. The ancients didn't fully understand this, but in their trepidation resided respect. One particularly hot afternoon amidst a heat wave of similar brutally hot days the building again became active, violently ejecting water as if it were a volcano. This came at a time when the ancients had almost forgotten what water looked like, for the summer drought had lasted what seemed like an eternity.

BOOOOM. WOOOOOOSHHHHH. S H H H H H H  H  H  H  h  h   h   h   h   .    .     . 

Reverberations of the event rippled through the narrow streets and alleys of the town. Passersby stopped and stared. Shocked into a trance. A glistening wall of water captured the rays of the sun, redirecting them in all directions. The building had briefly turned into a supermassive prism! Just for a fleeting second or two, but oh! It was so brilliant you should have been there. Steam instantly filled the streets as this rare bit of water, striking the thirsty asphalt below, vaporized.

The next several weeks, the ancients would flock to the building, or at least somewhere in the vicinity of the building. They were never quite sure which building it was or when it would happen again. Tension filled the desperate crowd. The optimists eagerly attempted to tell the cynics about the building they remembered, "...it felt like a struggle to reject the rules of our town; to overcome the expected by producing moments of surprise and richness!" The cynics always responded with an undeniable anger in their voice. "We need that water to drink and bathe with! The architecture of this town has turned against us. Hoarding it all. Playing games with us." One day as the sun was beating down on the crowd, a man somewhere in the middle snapped. "THIS IS A MATTER OF LIFE AND DEATH, GODDAMMIT! GIVE US OUR F*#@ING WATER." It wasn't clear if he was yelling at the building or the sky, but neither listened. It didn't rain again that summer.

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