Spencer
M
USA
Y LUNGS BEGAN TO GET USED TO THE CRISP feeling of dry air scratching at my throat. Looking toward the horizon I saw one of the loompa bounding ahead of the herd. Its wrinkled, green snout led a path for the rest of its body to follow, and with its movement the dust began to swiftly rush into the snout. A ghost of a smile appeared on my face as I saw its energy and enthusiasm break through the crowd. I lifted my wooden cane into the air and slowly moved it up and down. The loompas began rushing toward me in a sprint, and for just a moment I was worried about their sheer mass overwhelming me, but I have done this a thousand times previously so I quickly extinguished my worry. I took a confident leap towards the decaying fence while thrusting my cane toward the entrance. The loompa’s rolled into their domain like bowling balls, scattering and bouncing across the earth. Once the herd successfully entered I slammed the gate shut. I could feel the wind blow past and a rush of satisfaction came over me as I heard the click of the metal latch enclosing their home. Swirling around, I began marching back to the house under the willow tree. Long, immovable branches protected us from suffocation and even brought beauty, a concept previously foreign to us, into our lives. Leaves, pink and plentiful, floated downward from the top of the willow gifting those who reside under its dominion with a smell that I could only describe as welcoming. After the fall the world went into a stage of rebirth and began spewing red dust to heal, and the willow trees ended up being the last memory of when the planet was whole.
OTHERWORLDY PEACE 98
99
