One-Shot Wonders

Legends and myths exist to teach each other how to survive and prosper in a world we can't totally understand. Most cultures have their gods and their holidays that are passed down from generation to generation. Thanks to this oral tradition, people today can hear these stories and myths and learn from them just as the ancestors did.

But what about before recorded history?

Before the Egyptians...

Before the Afrikaans...

Before the Mesopotamians...

Before the Native Americans crossed the land bridge between what is now Russia and Alaska...

When I was a child, my people told stories just as everyone else has. The only difference is that my people knew what causes valleys and cracks in the ground to form.

My village was settled in a lush green paradise. We lived in peace with our neighboring villages and prospered. When I turned 14, my father married me to a man who was twice my age and had two wives already.

This was common among my people, and my new husband did show me respect and love. He knew that if he hadn't have offered the dowry for my hand, another man would have come along and stolen my innocence.

He promised that he would not take my virtue until I was ready to give it to him. It wasn't until my 17th nameday that I finally gave in to my more base desires.

Our little family lived in peace and plenty until our husband was ripe with age. He had lived longer than I had ever seen a man live, and us wives were happier for it.

He was immensely proud of each of his sons, who had earned his respect through hard work and comradery. When our husband finally passed, the worst imaginable happened. Our sons, who had grown up together, fought over who would hold the most land. Jealousy and mistrust had broken our family to pieces.

The worst day of all came when the three youngest, whom we referred to as the triplets since they were born on the same day but to each of us, were killed trying to bring peace to the family.

Even through childbirth, no physical or emotional pain compares to the death of not 1 or 2, but 3 children.

The pain that echoed from our hearts and minds that day started a crack that, within a few days, had become a valley that became a fissure. It grew and grew and grew until it swallowed up the once prosperous land, leaving behind a barren desert and a Grand Canyon to rival all other heartbreaks.

Us three sisters have kept watch over our Grand Canyon and every mother who has lost their child to reckless violence since that day. Every new mother added to the fold adds depth to the canyon, and each tear shed is added to the river that flows through the depths.

The Prompt:

When someone's heart breaks, so does a piece of our world; this created fissures, and valleys, and even cracks in the pavement. Tell me the story behind the Grand Canyon.