Ymir

A long time ago, life existed in an endless swamp. In this swamp was a massive trout. He was considered the king of the waters. He would thrash about with great joy and swallow alive all of the fish smaller than him. Being the king, however, meant that there was no fish larger than him. Some of these fish he bullied and tossed about. He promised that if they worked hard and gathered him more fish than they were worth, he would leave them alive longer. Each fish would in turn gather smaller fish with the same promise. This meant that the smallest of fish had no chance to live in such a world.

This meant that the threats of the smaller fish would also be overlooked.

The smaller fish were terrified to live in this kind of world. They would either try to escape or hide in the reeds and shallow marshes. These areas were crowded, filthy, and had very little resources to go around. Sickness spread easily, and with the larger fish patrolling outside, there was no escape. Besides, hiding from life was no way to live.

There were other fish, however, who wanted to live outside of fear. They wished to be able to swim out into the depths of the swamp and live freely. So some would gather and fight against the larger fish. Sometimes, they would win. They would feel that steady thrum of triumph before another fish would come and swallow them whole. The few that escaped never left the shallows again. Their fins were normally twisted or scales would have been raked off. Most of all, their spirits were shattered. Even if they gathered together and tried to pick off the larger fish one by one, punishment would soon follow suit. The larger fish were more than willing to bank themselves in order to take in the delicious tastes of the innocents that they could reach before their passing.

With that being said, that doesn’t mean that they were totally without hope. You see, there was a tiny fish in this massive swamp. With the population pushing each other further and further away from the swamp depths, this fish constantly found himself living by the shore. He had the constant misfortune of having to face the water fowl living in the trees and resting by the waterside. They were ugly monsters that made the King Trout look like a prawn.

Yet there is always a way to give a happy note to misfortune. Sometimes, it is a small, silent note, but it is always there. The tiniest fish of the swamp knew this, so he would watch these birds in the hopes that he would one day hear this note. One day, he did. It was quiet and short. It was a horrible, dull, and deep note. The consequences will always be inverse to the size of the fish. However, the benefits did run alongside them. As the tiniest fish in the entire swamp, no bird would ever find him worth eating.

With that in mind, the fish made his first move.

You see, living in constant fear and pain dulls a lot of senses. It has to in order to make living worthwhile. There are a select few that sharpen their wits though. These few may not be happy, but they tend to be crafty enough to find a form of escape. This tiny fish was one of those few. He knew that the only way to topple a tyrant so large was to find a villain even larger.

That day, the tiny fish spoke to one of the birds.

This massive bird simply scoffed at such a tiny fish trying to garner her attention, and she flew off to rest elsewhere. The second bird either couldn’t hear him, or she ignored him entirely. The third was a beautiful ibis. Each feather showed with all of the colors of the rainbow. She bent her neck as she heard the fish call out to her, and she laughed.

“A tiny morsel such as yourself dares to call out to me? Fine. I’ll humour you. I’ll listen to what you have to say.”

The fish thanked the ibis and told her, “I know of a very tasty fish in these waters that you can take for yourself.”

The ibis scoffed at the fish. “I can hunt well enough for myself. I don’t need a fish to help me.” The ibis spread her wings to fly away.

“Wait. If you kill this fish, all of the other fish will fight for his spot. They will hide no longer. You will have a feast for millenia.”

The ibis paused. “I’m listening, Small One. However, I will not allow you to hurt my pride. If you are wrong, I am not above feeding you to my children.”

The fish laughed, and he told her about the king of the waters.

That night, all of the water fowl in the swamp gathered together. The ibis swooped quickly against the night sky, and the king trout was no longer. Just as the tiny fish said, there was chaos within the next few hours. The large and greedy fish either fought with each other for his power, or they tried to sell out the fish they worked with for years. It mattered not to the heron and egrets. They picked and chose and had their fill. Still some of the medium-sized fish tried to wash themselves free of their guilt. They would claim for forgiveness. They would cry out that this was the only way they figured that they could live. Yet the spoonbills and stilts cared not. These fish were also swallowed and torn alive.

The ibis flew over the swamp again, and as a gift for providing for her and all of her friends, she dropped the carcass of the king. The tiniest fish swam out the next morning. Of course, none of the small fish were worth it in the horrendous slaughter. They all carefully followed behind. As they reached out to the depths of that endless swamp, the tiniest fish found the bare bones of the king trout.

His bones had started to ebb away in the currents, and moss and swampgrass was growing all about his mangled body. The swamp water and the trout’s blood cleansed each other and made a spiralling vortex of beautiful and clean water. Gone were his sins, but the small fish knew that if he went, the same sins would follow with him.

As he stared into the dead and wondrous body, he saw something floating out of the corner of his eye. Turning, he found that it was some of the eggs that were disturbed in last night’s onslaught. He didn’t know who it belonged to, but it didn’t matter. These eggs were without sin. They were without scars. It was then that he heard that deep, pounding note.

He didn’t know how else he could have gotten here, but he knew that there was finally a quiet and peaceful answer in the midst of all this mayhem.

He pushed the egg into the decay surrounded by life.

He pushed it into a world to start anew.

Here we stand now at the water’s edge. The shallows are burning and the depths spiral into the sky. The world is silent. No birds will come near, and there are no reeds to hide behind.We lay beside the water’s edge, and we quietly take our children and drown them. We don’t have a world to cast them off into. The decision is never so easy. Our sins will always bleed into them. They live in a decaying body of disease in a murky swamp. Yet here we are, pushing them deeper into it with the hopes that it’ll fix everything like magic.

This world is silent. Its sins stain its surface. We live in rot.

However

If we listen close enough

We could fill this world with pounding life again

In the horrors of life, some senses are sharpened

The answer is there

It’s living in the rot and misfortune of this world

It lives as a

Steady

Dull

Thrum