7

So this is life!

You dwell in the banks and shallows of a watercourse whose name you’ve neither learned nor contemplated. You sleep in a low-ceilinged den dug from the first reach of soil past a sandy bed that once flowed with water, but now, due to erosion of the opposite shore, is merely moist now and then. You eat well. Crawfish, snails, frogs, fish—these and more keep you strong and almost content. Small ducks are the most exciting prizes; catching them is an art your parents never taught you, but you’re proud to develop it day by day.

Your stream—or is it a small river?—is surrounded by straight, wet-barked trees that aren’t very big, but that seem proud to grow where they do. Some stretches consist of larger, darker trees with less growing beneath them. You go there sometimes for a change of pace, but never for long, as you know it’s not your habitat. You prefer never to be more than a good dash from the waterside.

You ‘re cordial with your neighbors to either side—minks like you with territories of their own. You all keep mainly to yourselves and rarely hunt outside your marked boundaries. You have a few favorite spots you like to stick with, anyway—the best places to corner fish, and whatnot. Those are always the places that seem the most beautiful in the long run.

You remember three summers and three winters. You’ve been out roving twice now, looking for a mate without any luck. No worries—you’re getting smarter and stronger every season, and it’s only a matter of time. Maybe this will be your lucky spring.

There’s a city nearby—filled with humans, like they all are. Your mother took you there in your first autumn, but you remember it only as a mélange, and have little desire to experience that again. Some animals go to the city in order to earn wealth and buy fascinating marvels, but you know that’s not realistic for you. You have no skills that humans would care about, so why would they reward you? Happy not to take wild risks, you remain at home, content with the knowledge that life is as it should be.

You’re digging at a boulder one night, hoping to dislodge it and discover insects and worms beneath, when your claw catches in a crevice. Before you can check yourself, it’s torn, and you’re stricken with pain. Even though the blood stays inside, you can smell it welling. You know it will heal—you’ve known worse—but suddenly the feeling of fear and disorientation strikes you as amazingly familiar. You fall to the ground, boggled by vivid memories of Creator, and the emotional shock of being shown grids and images before birth.

You moan in perplexity and wonder. What is all this? Clinging to the memory, you lope over the sand into your den and lie there, striving to recall anything you can about your pre-existence. This is incredible. This is real! All of it comes back to you while you lie there, your claw throbbing. The very notion that in the past you were something different from what you are…the memory of your cosmic assignment. To discover the ultimate goal…is that really what you’re meant to do?!

Hours pass, but the memory doesn’t fade now that it’s been unearthed. You know that it’s all true. There’s no way your mind could have concocted this alone. Your heart is beating rapidly. You raise your upper body, looking over the river that’s always been your home.

Everything has changed. You now have a mission. As strange as it seems, you have to do something. But what?

“I…I guess it’s finally time for me to go to the city.” Section 24.

“Well, if I’ve got a goal to discover, I can’t stay here forever. I wonder what the dark woods hold.” Section 37.

“There’s no reason for me to go wandering hither and yon. The truth is, I can search for purpose just fine right here on the river.” Section 55.

“No. I won’t do this. I like my life. There’s no point in risking health and happiness just to solve some mystery I don’t want to solve.” Section 120.

Return