Hello once again to another backlog, which I think at this time is looking pretty thin, which is a very good thing and will allow me to be more accurate in terms of what I’m writing since I really do think that I’m making pieces now that are a lot better than the things I do before. Such is the way of development. But either way, this one was supposed to go out with another similar piece that featured a cube. A little bit of a misleading title since this piece doesn’t concern math, but very much deals around with the idea of a sphere. The main themes revolve around that, and although there is a much larger world in the background, the focus is the idea of a sphere. Here you go, “Radius Of A Sphere”.
A sphere represents vitality. The shape of the earth is a sphere. For all of its worth, it’s still spherical, and that’s what allows it to hold life. It’s systems are contained in a cycle because it’s a sphere. One thing never ends, because one things leads up to another. The ending is the beginning, and nothing breaks away from this cycle. It’s a self sustaining cycle, only tampered by from the likes of people like me. That’s what they call capitalism.
In a closed system, everything is tightly packed together. Nothing gets out and nothing gets in. If you have a perfect system, than this closed system becomes hyper efficient. It’s like watching a waterwheel. Everything comes in and at the same time everything goes out. When you watch a waterwheel, it moves on its own. It’s a closed system, with water coming in and water coming out. Leave it to its own volition and it’ll do everything for you. It’s a sphere.
I walked to the old worn down watermill and looked at the old wheel. It had been years since this thing was running. The river below was still flowing but despite that, the wheel was stuck in place. I went inside of the building that accompanied the watermill. There were cobwebs all over the walls, and only a small window of sunlight was allowed in. It smelled of old wine and rotten wood, but it was a nice smell. It was a homely smell. There was dust on all of the wooden tables and chairs, and a large closet possibly brimming with old antiques. I went over to what the waterwheel was powering and looked at the old grains still remaining. I dared to put one in my mouth to guess the age of the mill, but dared against it.
I left the building and went back to the waterwheel. The river wasn’t as deep as one would think, and so I rolled up my pant legs and stepped inside. I slowly trudged my way to the waterwheel and then ducked my head into the river with a large gulp of air. I opened my eyes in the water and noticed that the waterwheel was tangled by a rope that anchored itself on the riverbed. I reached my hand down and tugged at the rope. It seemed to be tied to something buried beneath the riverbed. I emerged my head from the riverbed and then walked up the river. I let my pants and shirt dry in the sun for a few minutes then headed back into the watermill. I walked over to the dusty closet, and drew my finger across the door frame making a satisfying line appear. I then connected that line with another, making a cross. I drew my hands over to the door handles and then tugged. It gave after a few more tugs, leaving a quaintly sized dust cloud looming over my head. I held my breath, and then as the dust subsided, my suspicions had been confirmed. I grabbed a spade from the far reaching hook and cleaned it on the hem of my shirt. The iron handle was barely intact, but the iron spade was more than enough. I took the spade and then submerged back into the water.
I dipped the spade into the soil where the rope had attached itself to the waterwheel and begun digging it out. Once the dirt had been displaced, I noticed a wooden chest buried and grabbed it. I emerged from the water again, and untied the rope, freeing the waterwheel and giving way to its movement again. Just like that, the system had been recreated, restarted. Such is the nature of a sphere.
I sat on the grass in front of the watermill and inspected the box. It was well preserved, but did not have any engravings. It was in perfect condition. I placed the spade and wedged it on the opening of the chest and pried it open. I was immediately blasted with the scent of old brandy. It was a pungent smell that threatened to put me into a lull, but I ignored it and placed the jar of brandy onto the grass beside me. There was a note accompanying the jar, along with a sack filled with some kind of heavy object, and a dagger casing. I took the note and folded it into my pocket. I shook the sack before untying the opening, listening to the clinking of coins. The coins were quite clean despite all of its years, but were of a relatively old make, and for good reason. They smelled of old iron and copper, and the image painted upon it was quite exquisite. There was a symbol of wheat upon the iron coins, and gold upon the copper coins. I surmised that I could make a hefty sum if I were to exchange them. Though, finding someone to make value of such a thing would be quite hard. Nevertheless, I attached the sack of coins to my belt and then unsheathed the dagger. It was a fine steel with a sharp point. There were engravings on the handle, to the owner of the watermill. Perhaps to defend from bandits, I thought. Though, not many would target a humble watermill.
I opened the jar on the brandy, and gave it another whiff. It was quite strong, and so I raised it to my lips and lowered some slowly down my throat. It stung for a second, but soon slid down my lips like a cool waterfall. I didn’t drink too much, but put the jar back into the box, and tied it to my belt as well. I made sure that it hung towards my side, but didn’t swing. Once I had finished collecting the spoils, I went back into the watermill and returned the spade to its spot.
I gave one final look to the watermill before heading my way. It was like looking at the creation of the world. Vines were creeping up towards the sides, and the base was slowly turning into a mossy green. Before long, it would become habit to birds and critters from the woods, or even a nest for a Great Tree. The waterwheel would then be a strange obtrusion and also be swallowed by the vines and weeds that grew at its base. Any semblance towards a man-made structure would be lost and this entire establishment would revert back into a sphere. It would be part of the system again, swallowed up by nature’s wrath and forgotten to the next generation. The ending of this generation spells the next. Whether humans will be around or not doesn’t matter to the system. It’ll still operate, and the likes of the next species that dares to meddle with it, will find itself in the same predicament. We’ve been cursed a sphere, and we’ve been cursed the knowledge of unknowing. At least until the day I’ve become a part of the system, I’ll continue to traverse.
I smiled one last time at the watermill, listened to the river passing the waterwheel, and took a large breath of the air around the establishment. It smelled of rotten wood, old steel, and decaying flesh.