The saying, “Those who do not know history are doomed to repeat it,” is often used as a warning against obstinant ignorance. But sometimes it’s really not anyone’s fault that history is not known; because there is no record to study, future generations do not know what lead to the cataclysm. They might not even know there was a cataclysm. And now I’m thinking of Asimov’s novelette, “Nightfall.”
Both Robert and I both needed extra seconds (and minutes) to finish the exercise this week. Sometimes the time segments seem overly generous, but this week they felt really tight. Time is weird!
As always, if you read this, and want to write your own, please post it in the comments, or link to your own site. I’d be thrilled to read what others come up with!
Character: Historian
Object: Anthill
Genre: Thriller
Dust fell from the ceiling nearly constantly, and now and then larger chunks of architecture followed. The city was falling apart. A clutch of workers ran past her, chattering in fear. Diana was running in the opposite direction, her mind bursting with remnants of ancient knowledge. Would anyone believe her?
She needed to warn the mayor; she couldn’t be exactly sure why this happening, but the damaged records of times past were proof enough to her that they needed to get out of the city. She just needed to be convincing.
“Your honor!” She bobbed at the door. The mayor was surrounded by underlings, they were constantly sweeping debris away, and just barely keeping a sense of order. “Your honor! The foundations of the city are being destroyed! We need to get out!”
“You’re blowing this out of proportion dear. All is well. This city has stood for generations.”
“Yes, but that’s no guarantee! I’ve been digging through the old records! Our ancestors often had to remove to saftey!”
“It’s just a little rubble. Nothing we can’t keep cleared away.”
“But…”
“Now listen here, if you want to strike out on your own, you’re free to do so!”
Diana wilted. The city was an oasis in a vast, lonely wilderness. She had nothing that would allow her to survive on her own for long.
“Your honor, the scouting parties haven’t returned. What is preventing them? A danger to one is a danger to all. I’m thinking of how to protect you, all the children.”
The children: that made the mayor think. “Perhaps. We must protect the future after all.”
“Then let us leave, quickly! I’ll help carry…”
***
A pair of heavy boots stamped around the ant hill. “Jim, this one is HUGE. This must be where all those ants were coming in from.”
“Well, it will make a great addition to our collection.” He poured the vat of molten tin into the top of the anthill, steam vented from the ground all around.
“Do you think it hurts the ants very badly?”
“I sure don’t know. It’s probably quick.”
No word of what happened to the city was preserved for future generations; unless they ever learn to read the labels next to the tin molds in a small natural history museum.