Silver's Fables
The Potato and the Tree
A tree and a potato sat in pure, undisturbed silence.
It was Autumn, and the tree was standing tall and proud, golden leaves drifting down from its already filled branches.
The potato, meanwhile, simply sat in the dirt and mud, half-buried beneath the filth. If one were to pass by, they likely wouldn't even notice it, simply mistaking it as part of the ground.
"Oh, how tall and proud you stand, my friend!" the potato cried out one day" If only I could be as lovely as you, with gold covering me, instead of all this dirt!"
"I believe you are mistaken. I am not your friend." the tree replied smoothly, puffed up with pride at the potato's laments" See how tall above you I am, and see how much I still have to grow! I shall continue growing further and further, coming closer and closer to the sky, while you will sink deeper and deeper into the muck and filth, where you truly belong. Before long, you won't be on the ground: you'll be below it. And I will continue rising, to heights you could never dream of!"
"How lucky it must be for you!" the potato sighed, feeling quite saddened by the tree's grand speech" I wish that I could feel the thrill of standing so tall, so high, looking down upon the world below me…"
"It is not just the world that I look down upon, but you as well." the tree replied sharply.
And that was the end of their conversation, and the potato's foolish dreams.
The tree's words proved true: as days passed, the potato sunk down lower and lower, until it was nearly entirely buried beneath the dirt.
The tree only grew higher and higher, until those below it were simple, insignificant specks.
Winter came and went, with the potato spending every day sinking further and further into unhappiness, wishing that it was staring up at the sky, and not the filth and mud surronding it.
Spring came with rain, and more mud, and blades of bright green grass-
The color did nothing to appease the potato, who dreamed of nothing but staring across the vast blue sky.
He no longer spoke with the tree anymore: why should he? The tree was so far above him… and he was so below.
And yet, one day, a voice interrupted his sad musings.
"Look at that!"
The voice was happy and cheerful, most certainly not the serious, dignified tree.
"Look at what? Where are you-?" the potato asked, trying to look around and find the speaker.
"I'm right up here!" the voice chirped" I just finished growing!"
It took a minute for the realization to sink in.
The potato had been too busy feeling bad for himself, that he never noticed another potato, growing atop his sorry skin.
"Oh. What are you looking at? The sky? There's no use, we'll never be able to rise up and look upon the vast world. We'll never be able to shed gold and ruby leaves upon others. No one will ever look up to us, we'll always be below them…"
"What?" the tiny potato asked" Why would I be looking at the sky? It's just vast emptiness, the same colors mixed together, day after day! Carrying on forever and ever, the same bleak emptiness. I'm looking at the ground! Don't you see how the grass blades dance about in the wind? Can't you see the little bronze acorns, lying about, hiding between clumps of mud and grass? Can't you see the wonders that this dirt contains: specks of bright stones, dark minerals, strange wonders for us to discover! The sky is always there above us, always the same, day after day. But look at this ground! Look at how the dew glistens on the leaves! Look at how the nuts whisper amongst themselves, speaking of things we shall never know! Look at this wonder and mystery, surronding us on every side!"
The tiny potato's cheerful monologue made the potato pause for a moment.
"But… what about the tree? See how high he goes, see how wide his branches spread, like wide arms, dropping emerald leaves upon all of us? See how this dirt and muck covers us as he rises into the bright, wide sky?"
"Bah, why do you care so much for the sky? It's empty, nothing but still air and shifting colors. Here everything is solid and real! And all that tree does is stand stiff and straight, all day, forced to look and act perfect every moment! Feel how we nestle warmly into the mud, protecting from the harsh winds? And see how every breeze strikes him, how every bird lands on him, how everyone stares at him?"
"Oh, but that's exactly the point! He's perfect: everyone's eyes are always upon him! We could never dream of being so important and wanted!" the potato lamented.
"Of course we couldn't. And why would we? We have everything we need down here. We need not to be so stiff and serious like the tree, nor small and secretive like the nuts. We are potatoes, and we can be whatever we want!"
The tiny potato's cheerful voice and attitude made the potato's thoughts shift.
Was this true? Was the ground truly so wonderful? Was the potato wasting his time and thoughts on needlessly complaining?
He let his many eyes wander across the ground, staring at the clumps of dirt and seeing the specks of stones and minerals inside, watching how the sun made them glitter like gold and silver.
He gazed upon the dew drops, decorating the slim blades of grass, glistening like gems of pure crystal.
And he gazed upon the tree, seeing how it uselessly grew higher and higher, closer and closer to the empty promise of an endless sky.
And he thought of himself, nestled warmly in the mud, every day filled with new wonders and discoveries.
And so, each day came and went.
Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter…
Each day was filled with joy and love.
The potatoes sank deeper and deeper into the dirt, spotting new spectacles every moment.
More and more potatoes joined them, until they were a happy, bustling family, their minds and hearts one, not allowing eachother to droop with sadness, nor rise with envy.
Instead, they simply let the world push them down further and further, but it mattered not, for their hearts rose higher and higher.
As for the tree, it continued to rise, day after day.
The world below it became meaningless, empty specks.
All it saw was the vast sky.
It was so wide, so endless, so… lonely.
The tree stared listlessly into the gold and sapphire and black.
And he was alone.
Until some people came, noticed how tall he was, and chopped him down.
The end.
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The Lantern In Summer
Lanterns, by nature, are meant to be bright, clean, and shiny. They live for the singular purpose of bestowing light upon others. Wipe them, oil them, and set a fire within them: and you'll have a happy lantern.
And between two corners of a dirt road, a lantern hung on a tree branch.
And he was, a happy lantern.
Everyday, the people of the town cleaned him. They wiped him and placed oil inside him, and set a small, pulsing fire ablaze inside him. Everyday, travelers passing through the road at night saw him, and were led into the town.
His flickering light continued, seemingly without end. Even in the darkest nights and coldest winters, the lantern guided the lost. Even as snow blanketed the world, covering every road and sign, the lantern's warmth melted the concealing snow, a beacon in an empty, white world.
But even the darkest nights and coldest winters pass.
Before long, bright green buds sprouted from the ground and trees. Rain fell steadily, a cause of celebration for the simple-minded peasants.
Did they not see how the lantern's fire had gone out, leaving it cold, wet, and miserable?
Before long, even the Spring rain stopped, and Summer came.
The lantern was alone, hanging on the edge of his tree, dusty, lonely, and warm.
But this warmth was not from the bright fire, burning within him.
This warmth, oh so terrible and shameful!, came from another.
The sun burned above the lands, lighting up every path.
It seemed to chase away the darkness, making the nights shorter and shorter.
And the lantern, became useless.
Completely, and utterly useless.
Light and warmth came from one far stronger and bright than it could ever dream of being.
Green leaves and bronze branches grew longer and thicker, blocking the people from the mournful lantern.
It swung in cold winds, wishing miserably that it was winter.
The whole world could be covered in ice, and snow, and those wretched peasants could starve, green buds and leaves could freeze over and die.
Just so long as the lantern was once again bright, clean, and shiny. Just so long as, once again, he burned throughout the night, the only light, the only warmth in a blank, empty world.
But there was nothing the lantern could do.
One hot day, the lantern sat silently, hanging from the tree, feeling rusty, dusty, and downright worthless.
The sun shone above it, far, far more superior.
Why should the lantern even bother hoping to be as important as this light?
The lantern was so small, so weak, so worthless-
Once another source of light and warmth came along, everyone was so quick to abandon him, and leave him all alone.
Why? Why did the lantern deserve such betrayal from such treacherous, ungrateful people?
Why did the lantern deserve such silent suffering?
The sun continued to rise higher and higher, sending rays of warm light, through the green leaves and twisted branches, and upon the lantern.
The light filtered through its dusted glass body, reflecting light all across him.
The lantern was bathed in light and warmth, that was not from itself.
For a moment, there was a mixed, pulsing feeling: envy, anger, hatred, sadness, confusion.
The lantern, felt warm.
It took a brief moment to stare at the shimmering leaves, then at the deep blue sky, and the distant sun.
So, so far away… yet so bright and warm…
The lantern could never dream of being like it.
And yet…
Why should it?
The world was bright.
The paths were clean.
And the thick, fat leaves seemed waxed and shiny.
The world around the lantern had everything he wished he could be.
And yet…
Did the lantern need to be so spiteful?
Even the darkest nights and coldest winters passed…
And returned.
One day, the peasants would come crawling back, cleaning, oiling, and setting the lantern ablaze.
It would be a beacon of warmth and light, within an empty world, blanketed with ice and darkness.
But for now, the lantern could accept being soaked in the brightness, cleanliness, and shininess of those around him.
He knew that his own time would come one day.
He knew that, even as he was miserable and mourning, the rest of the world was filled with warmth and light.
He knew, that one day, as all else around him seemed in misery and mourning, the lantern would be warmth and light.
And then he wouldn't.
Again, again, and again.
Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall.
Joy, Envy, Anger, Sadness.
Light, dark, cold, warmth.
Again, again, and again.