Pond Capricious
The drab little pond was as serene and uneventful as ever. Nobody had come by yet today, the only company around was the typical sort. There were no sounds or smells. There were only three things: the lake, its inhabitants, and the humid summer air.
The brownish, pink gravel path, which looped around the perimeter of the pond, was untread, waiting eagerly to be ventured on by the local great-folk. At one portion, the path gave way to a small wooden bridge, made to ease the journey for the domesticated passerby when the terrain became uncooperative.
Near the entrance to our pond, large, flat rocks dotted the shore, suitable for the great-folk to sit, stand, and climb on. There were also some benches further from the pond, but they were coated in dirt and leaves. They were seldom used, for the great-folk preferred to congregate around the main attraction, our pond and home. A trash can or two could be found along the path. We hadn’t ventured close enough to them to smell the odor that emanated from them when their lids were lifted. But we had seen what sort of things the great-folk had thrown in them. The hideous faces they had made as they did their dreaded duty. We do not want any part of it.
Many trees made their home around the pond, and on the end of the pond opposite to the rocks, they congregated in numbers large enough to be considered a small forest. In truth, the trees aren’t all that memorable when they are alive. But some of the dead ones had fallen into the pond. Their cadavers poked out of the surface, trunks, stumps, and branches jutting out and snaking across the surface of the water. These made for great places for our kind to sit around during the peaceful hours, some of them were even large enough for us to gather together to participate in our cherished tradition, soaking in the sun.
The fountain in the middle of the pond lay dormant and inactive. The truth is nobody knew when it would turn on and off, not even the great-folk. It didn’t matter anyway, all it served to do was scatter water uselessly into the humid air only for it to fall back into the water. It was only there because the pond would be incomplete without it, according to the indecipherable customs of the great-folk.
We shared our pond with other creatures. Countless tiny fish, who only served to pick away at our scarce food supplies, and scatter away into nothing if we ever drew close to them. On a rare occasion, the crane might make a stop at our pond, to fly circles around us with its great, white wings. What a show-off. And of course, there were the goliaths. The great-folk feared them for their powerful bite. Powerful enough to remove a finger, they whispered amongst themselves. We wished they feared us for similar reasons. Maybe then they wouldn’t bother us as much.
Alas, some great-folk were brave or foolish enough to tussle with the goliaths regardless of the danger. How then could we expect them to leave us be? They would come and throw bread into our pond, and then lie in wait. We had two options: Lie and watch the tiny fish nibble away at the nourishment meant for us, or claim our divine right and hope we escaped. The great folk knew this decision wracked our minds. If we drew too close to the shore to grab their bait, they would catch us in their great nets for sport. They would usually return us to the pond after a brief celebration. Sometimes they would let us scurry into the water ourselves, oftentimes with beasts at our backs, gnawing at our heels. A few of us tell stories of being thrown back into the water as if we were skipping stones. But the outcome was always the same. We would live to swim another day, but our hearts and minds would never quite be the same. Fear took root amongst our ranks, seeped into our shells.
Just as we expected given the weather today, the great-folk arrived. And they had brought with them their great, haired beast. They came here periodically, because where else would they go? The pond was close, it was routine to come here, and they insisted on bringing their beasts. As the beast tugged at its leash, they saw us lying on our fallen log, our safe haven. We hoped that maybe today they would feel mercy in their hearts, but like every other day, it was to no avail. They made a beeline for us, as they had many times before. The great-folk enjoyed tormenting us this way, watching us flee in terror at the sight of their slobbering beast. And flee we did, lest we incur the wrath, the beast’s wrath. Though the beast feared the water, its tenacity and blind ambition might spell doom for us if we attempted to stand our ground. The same fear we all shared once again took a hold of us, and we were spurred to action. One by one, we abandoned our post, and plopped into the murky water, out of their sights. It would only be a few minutes until they would leave the pond, we hoped. Then things could return to being serene and uneventful once more.