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The Gift & The Well
“Father,” I asked, “Tell me again of how our people stole the Well from the Gods.”
He turned his head, admonishing me with a hard stare. “I have told you before not to call it that, Ithilis. It is a mere part of the greater Well. You know this.”
“Yes Father.” I lowered my head, chastised.
He huffed a sigh, amusement colouring his tone. “Very well. I suppose you have worked hard today. Help your brothers put the children to bed, and I will tell you.”
The wind whistled across the gleaming plain ahead. Far in the distance he could see his first destination, rising up through the bright paths of the dead. He stood, silent, for just a moment—and then lowered his head, forging onwards.
The great, empty expanse that separated the traveller’s home from the world beyond was an intimidating thing. Not one of his people had ever found its edge—or at least, none had returned to tell the tale of it. A seemingly endless terrain of bleached-bone white, broken only by the grooved grey tracks he followed, stretching out in perfectly uniform lines to the horizon. The tracks wore on his weary feet—although they seemed to be made of a coarse, grey sand, they were unchanging and immovable, as if frozen in time.
No one knew what wondrous hands had made these paths, or how; some said it was the Gods themselves, forging the land so that their people might rule it, while others claimed their ancient forebears had used arcane arts to bend the terrain to their will. Whatever the true answer, that knowledge was far beyond them now. He could no more understand this place than he could the changing of the day into night.
And so, as the paths to the Afterworld tilted ever higher with the breaking of the day, the traveller walked on.
“Maybe they’re guards. Like ours.”
Narayah snorted. “That’s stupid. You’re stupid, Ithilis.”
“No no, hear me out! They keep watch, make sure that the Enemies cannot enter. There must be a reasons the paths shut at night; maybe the Gate is vulnerable. So the Gods set guards.”
His friend cocked his head, considering. “I suppose,” he said slowly, “it’s not entirely impossible. But I don’t think it’s right.”
I frowned. “Well, what’s your great idea then!”
“It’s like the Plateau. It looks smaller when it’s further away, right? Maybe the Afterworld does too. And we can only see bits of it.”
I considered this for a while. Below us, the last few workers made their way Home. Beyond us, the world was silent.
“Huh.”
Neither of us spoke again. We simply stared out through the Gate at the flickering lights beyond.
The wind did not whistle anymore—it howled. The sound did not bother him. He had been climbing for so long that the howl of the abyss above and below was just a dull roar, background noise. Worse by far was the cutting, flitting cold. He paused, exhaling. The puffy could hovered for a split-second between his face and the wall, before another icy burst swept it away. He chanced a look upwards—nothing. The unnaturally flat cliff edge receded into the clouds, out of sight and reach. A look downwards almost showed the same in reverse. If he squinted, he could just make out the pale lines of the path he had walked across the plain far, far below.
Gritting his teeth, he began to pull himself up again.
“Come my son, hurry! Or we’ll be late again, and I for one have no wish to be scolded by your mother today.”
I stumbled slightly, my leg catching on the rough terrain, and my father slowed a little. He turned to me, an apology on his face.
“Careful now. I think I’ll get a worse lecture if I don’t bring you back in one piece!”
I put on a burst of speed, drawing alongside my father with a huff. I was five, I didn’t need to be babied anymore!
Unfortunately, I was focused more on keeping up than looking where I was going. I stumbled again, my cheeks puffing in indignation as my father chucked slightly, catching me by my torso without missing a single step. As I nursed my wounded pride, we rounded a corner and slowed to a trot as Home came in sight.
From the outside, it did not look like much. A roughly hewn crack in the white stone wall that ran some ten times my height, the entrance resembled a cave more than a true dwelling. But inside…
“Khalil! You’re cutting it a little fine today!”
My father laughed. “What, did you miss me? How sweet.”
The guard chuckled, waving an arm lazily. “Alright, head in you old rogue. And your brat too!”
Still laughing lightly, my father steered me inside. As we stepped through the opening, a part of me relaxed that I hadn’t known was there. I sighed, looking around with a smile.
Thousands of our people hurried back and forth, across walkways and bridges, slipping through hidden alcoves and alleyways, ducking into tunnels and down narrow stairways. The world outside was harsh and barren, but Home was… safe.
I started as a warm limb rested on my back. I looked up into the kind eyes of my father, scrunched up in a smile.
“It’s good to be back, isn’t it?” he said warmly. “Now, let’s go find your mother.”
It had taken many hours, but at last the climb was over. And yet it had all been for nought.
The traveller looked out with something close to despair at the landscape before him. The pretty, intricate patterns that swirled across the land did little to help his mood—had his quarry been here, he would have seen far less of them. It seemed the gods did not want their Gift to be given so easily this day.
He was weary, and he had far to go. Best to camp a while, and move on when rested. And if he had to sleep somewhere outside of Home, well, he could have picked worse places.
The Plateau was beautiful. He had heard older folk speak of it before; young workers, dreamily wishing to see the great sights of the outside world again, and a solemn reverence that came over the veteran guards. But until now, he had now understood.
The world below was nothing more than a splash of whites, browns and greys. It seemed so small from such a great height. And across from him, a grander sight still.
Closer now than ever before, the dull glow of the Afterworld shone through the Gate, the paths of the dead rising up and away from mortal lands. The end of the day was coming round, and soon it would be night—the first he had seen since he was a child. He only prayed that he might finish his task before the light faded.
But while the Gate’s splendour was a humbling thing indeed, the traveller found his gaze drawn to the glint of metal, hanging just below it. A wonder that he had heard of so many times throughout the years, but never seen for himself, his true prize.
The Well of Dreams.
“Malika! I have returned—and brought your son back alive, to boot.”
My mother was surrounded by my many siblings, their shouts and cries forming a familiar, discordant din. A maid fussed at her shoulder, but she ignored the distraction, turning to face us with smiling eyes. “You make it sound like such a challenge, Khalil. Maybe I should come out there with you next time, see what all the fuss is about.”
My father smiled. “Well now, that would hardly be fair! You are beautiful enough in here, my love. If you were to be graced by the light, why you’d put all the wonders of the world to shame, and then where would we be?”
My mother laughed, reaching down to pick up one of my youngest brothers, cradling him gently. “Oh shush, you old charmer.” She looked to me, her mirth shifting to concern, but suffused with the love I knew so well. “And you, Ithi? How was it?”
I beamed back at her. “It was incredible, mother!”
Some of the tension bled from her frame. “I’m glad—you’re still so young, I worried it might be too early for you to see the outside. I suppose I just worry too much.”
“I saw the gleaming plain! And father showed me the way to the Source, and I got to see the Plateau of Plenty, and-”
My excited chatter faded into the hum of my siblings chatter, as my mother listened with an indulgent smile.
When he awoke, the light had sunk a little lower, and the bright paths had passed a little higher.
It did not take him long to pack up—he had brought enough supplies for the journey, and to carry his prize back with him, and nothing else. There was no need for it. Shouldering his pack, he began the long walk to the Well.
Hours ticked by as he steadfastly continued on his way. The journey was not hard: up here, the dangers of the great plains that he had travelled all his life were far away, never venturing up into the heavens. But to make it he would have to cross the vast expanse of the Plateau in its entirety, into the strange domain of the gods, and then past that at last to the Well.
Time passed.
Mother stiffened, alert, then relaxed with a laugh. “I think someone is here to see you, Ithi."
A familiar face poked around the corner. “Narayah!” I bounded over to my oldest friend. “I went out!”
The anticipated awe, sadly, did not come. Narayah scoffed. “I know, stupid.” But despite his cutting words, he could not hide the excited gleam in his eyes. “Well?”
I smirked, in what I thought was a sly manner. “Well what?”
He rolled his eyes impatiently. “Well, how was it?”
I grinned at him. “Amazing.”
The Gods were strange beings. Fickle and inscrutable. That he was here at all was proof of it—if there was a pattern for where they left the Gift, a reason why, no one of the people had yet seen it.
And these structures…
No one knew what they were for. Legends spoke of how the great, gleaming edifice he walked past now had once been a source of the Gift, but the truth of that tale was lost to time. Certainly, it had not done anything in generations. Another that he had passed a while back, coloured the sickly red of blood, was known to make a terrible screech at the turn of the night into day. He was too young to remember the last time it had sounded, but his oldest siblings spoke of an unearthly noise with haunted eyes.
But, the traveller reflected, they must surely have a purpose. And a grand one, no less—after all, among their number was his final destination.
I had whiled away more than a few hours regaling my friend with my grand and not-so-grand exploits of the day, but eventually he had to leave. Exhausted but happy, I lazed in the central hall and wondered what to do.
“...to go up there one day, just like everyone else. Better prepared than sheltered; the Gods do not smile on the idle, my love.”
I perked up. Father was talking about me!
“He’s still so young! There are others who can go, and-”
“The Well is running dry, Malika. You know what that means.”
There was a moment of silence.
“..Yes.” My mother was whispering now. If I hadn’t been listening, I would never have heard her. “But I wish it was not so.”
Movement, closer and-!
I did my best to look innocent, and not as if I had been listening in, as my parents entered the hall. Mother continued through, no doubt to tend to my siblings, but my father lingered. He seemed troubled.
I hesitated.
“Father,” I asked, “Tell me again of how our people stole the Well from the Gods.”
It hung, shining and bright, over the Silver Abyss. The sight almost defied words; he had never seen anything so otherworldly. It looked so alien, and yet so strangely beautiful, that he almost wanted to reach out and touch it—but the Abyss was more than enough to bring him back to his senses.
If the Well possessed an alien beauty, then the Abyss possessed an alien terror. Gleaming with the same silvery, metallic glow as the Well, it was nothing more or less than the name suggested. An abyss, a great chasm from which there was no escape. The ultimate safeguard, the best protection the Gods could give against anything that might steal the purest waters.
He suppressed a shiver. Reluctantly, he tore his eyes away. As much as he wished to gaze at this wondrous sanctuary for longer, if he did not return with the Gift before the light gave out, he would be the first in generations to fail at a duty passed down, father to son and father to son.
No one was sure why the Gift sometimes appeared by the Well. The Gods reasons were unknowable—it was better not to question them. Sure enough, the great curve of the Gift’s vessel was clearly visible on the other side of the well; all the traveller had to do was walk around. Determined, and almost at the goal he sought, he set off.
Long ago, when the Gods had crafted the great shining Afterworld but had yet to build the Gate, and our people were barred from the shining paths of the dead, they looked down at us from far above and took pity.
And so the Gods convened, as they had done at the beginning of all things, and discussed among themselves how they might bring some relief to the people.
One proclaimed; “I will lavish them with a great Gift of food, the fruits of the heavens themselves.” And so that god forevermore gave the Gift to the people.
Another said; “I will build them a Gate, that they might join us in paradise when their labours are ended.” And so that god built the great Gate, and forevermore chartered the paths of the dead.
There was much rejoicing among the Gods, for they believed that such boons would give the people much relief.
But one god stood silent, gazing down upon the land.
She whispered; “I will make them a Well, that they might know the purest water. I will build an Abyss, that it might be protected from the unworthy. And then they will know dreams, and their souls will be unchained.”
And so that god made the Well, and the people knew dreams, and they were set free.
Hauling himself over the edge of the vessel, the traveller gazed with triumph at the bounty spread out before him. While the stock provided by the Source would feed his people, the strange and wondrous foods that came with the Gift were a luxury unlike any other; and luxuries were few and far between for his people.
He moved forward to begin collecting what he could, when he felt a vibration, buzzing through his feet and the very land itself.
His eyes widened and he straightened up, stiffening. Slowly, disbelievingly, he turned to face the empty sky.
Striding out of the clouds, ponderous and slow but stretching up high, higher than the plateau he stood on and higher than he could ever hope to see, covered in strange patterns and colours, changing in texture from one limb to the next.
Not for a hundred generations had the Gods walked. And now, somehow, there was one here.
He stared, overtaken by a strange, hungry fascination, unable to look away. With great deliberation, the god lifted up a strange, clear vessel—and opened up the Well of Dreams.
I listened with rapt amazement. I had heard the story a hundred times, but each time it seemed new to my ears.
“Many seasons passed, and one day a great warrior was born among the people. So great were his exploits, and so numerous his victories, that the Gods themselves chose to speak to him.
“They greeted the warrior and asked; “Is your blade sharp enough to meet any challenge? Is your mind cunning enough to face any foe?” And the warrior, unbending, answered; “Yes.”
“The Gods wished to test the warrior, and so they said; “Go fight the enemies of your people, until you have slain a hundred and one deadly warriors, and return when the night has turned to day.
“And so the warrior went forth, and slew a hundred and one of the great Enemies, and returned to the Gods when the night had turned to day.
“The Gods wished to test the warrior again, and so they said; “Build a home for your people, that they may live at peace, and return when the day has turned to night.
“And so the warrior went forth, and built the Home of his people, stalwart enough to last a thousand generations, and returned to the Gods when the day had turned to night.
“The Gods were pleased with the warriors prowess, and wished to reward him. But they could no agree who should give the warrior their favour, and so they fell to squabbling, and the land grew dark and the people shook with fear.
“The warrior was afraid, and went to leave, but a voice stopped him; “Great warrior, go to the Well and take a little of the purest water. If you should pass this final test, your reward will be great.””
A great rumbling, like the purr of some great, distant beast, came up from under the ground—and then with a gushing roar, water boiled up out of the Well.
Despite himself, the traveller moved closer. To be so close to a god was terrifying, a confrontation with his own mortality if there ever was one, but strangely exhilarating too. And he could not pass up the opportunity to see the Well of Dreams, open for the first time in living memory—longer, even.
He gazed up at the rushing spray, tumbling down into the vessel and past it into the great Silver Abyss.
All too soon, it was over. The god gestured, and with a creaking groan the Well juddered to a stop, the flow of water slowing to trickle, and then nothing at all.
The god lifted the vessel high, high up into the heavens, beyond the clouds and out of site. Just as slowly as before it turned, the paths of the dead curving around the great beings path, and with the same terrifying majesty with which it had arrived, left.
The traveller remained where he was. Long after the god left, he remained trembling, in awe at his close brush with divinity. A few minutes that seemed more like an eternity later, he slowly stood. He was not sure when he had fallen to his knees. He was not sure it really mattered. He looked around—and froze.
There, not feet away from him, was a small pool of water. Barely enough to be called a puddle. It seemed that a little of the great spray of water from before had been flung outwards, far enough to reach him. Hardly a drop of the great Well.
But that small drop was miraculous to his eyes. That clear vessel—even when filled with water, it had stayed clear. Water came in all colours and clearness, yes. But he had never seen water that flawless.
Purest water.
For a long moment, he sat there, staring down at the droplet of a god’s bounty.
“Come on Ithilis,” he muttered to himself. “Don’t mess this up.”
Then, before he could think better of it, he dropped down and drank.
“And so the warrior went forth to the Well. Although none had faced the Abyss and survived, the warrior was brave and cunning, and he was able to steal a little of the purest water. But the task was difficult, and so the warrior, tired and thirsty, drank from the purest water.
“At once, the voice that had spoken to the warrior before rang out all around; “You have passed your final test, and claimed your reward. Go back to your people, and tell them to honour me above all Gods, for I have given you the greatest boon I can.
“The purest waters coursed through the warrior, and she understood the secrets of the world below and the heavens above, and her mind was cleared and her body cleansed. And the warrior returned to our people, and became the first Queen; and since that day we have honoured Ezili above all other Gods, for it was she who helped us first steal from the Well of Dreams, and it is through her kindness that we may one day again.”
His vision fractured. The shards fell away, down down down into the dark—and so did he. He was falling, scattered shards flickering around him, down down-
He landed on something soft, and colour rippled out around him. Green and blue and red and yellow, blending and splitting and mixing again. How he could see this, he did not know—it was as if he was gazing at his own body from above, observing the patterns and whirls as they danced around his prone form. With a flash of panic, he realised that he was starting to sink, the colours lapping at his head, pulling over him.
He fell below the surface, and gasped as his vision went white. He thought for a moment that he had gone blind—but realised instead that he was standing in the same void as before, but before him lay the Afterworld itself, in all its glowing majesty. Bright and unchanging, waiting for his soul to be released—and for the first time he felt not a trace of fear at the thought. Instead, he was greeted by the unceasing certainty that when he met his end, his soul would be secured. Safe, and glorious.
Reaching out, his arm hovered inches away from the welcoming light. He pushed forward, brushing the very edge of eternity-
With a gasp, Ithilis jerked upright. At first, he could not recognise where he was, but after a moment, recognition came with a tinge of shock.
The day was gone, and night had at last come. How long had he been asleep?
No. That wasn’t right. As Ithilis stood up, the realisation came slowly but surely, elation spreading from every corner to the very core.
Not he. She.
“Hail, Ezili,” she whispered. A Queen. She was a Queen.
The first in generations. The first since mother.
She looked around. The vessel remained, its gift still waiting to be collected. With her new, stronger form, it was a simple enough task.
And then at last, with joy in her heart and a song on her lips, Ithilis left the Well of Dreams, and began her journey home.
“What is that, Father?”
Ahead of them was what looked to me like a small pool. But that couldn’t be all it was—otherwise father would not have been so serious.
“That, my son, is what your grandfather stole from the Gods.”
My breath caught. Strangely, as my young mind reeled, a single thought dashed through my head.
“It’s so small!”
My father looked amused, but his tone was chiding nonetheless. “To have even so little is a great gift. A treasure, precious beyond imagining.”
I looked on in awe, a little scared to go closer lest I somehow defile it. “Grandfather really stole the Well of Dreams?”
He shook his head. “Only a part of it, little one. The tiniest fraction.” He smiled. “But that, Ithilis, is all we need.”
He turned his head, admonishing me with a hard stare. “I have told you before not to call it that, Ithilis. It is a mere part of the greater Well. You know this.”
“Yes Father.” I lowered my head, chastised.
He huffed a sigh, amusement colouring his tone. “Very well. I suppose you have worked hard today. Help your brothers put the children to bed, and I will tell you.”
The wind whistled across the gleaming plain ahead. Far in the distance he could see his first destination, rising up through the bright paths of the dead. He stood, silent, for just a moment—and then lowered his head, forging onwards.
The great, empty expanse that separated the traveller’s home from the world beyond was an intimidating thing. Not one of his people had ever found its edge—or at least, none had returned to tell the tale of it. A seemingly endless terrain of bleached-bone white, broken only by the grooved grey tracks he followed, stretching out in perfectly uniform lines to the horizon. The tracks wore on his weary feet—although they seemed to be made of a coarse, grey sand, they were unchanging and immovable, as if frozen in time.
No one knew what wondrous hands had made these paths, or how; some said it was the Gods themselves, forging the land so that their people might rule it, while others claimed their ancient forebears had used arcane arts to bend the terrain to their will. Whatever the true answer, that knowledge was far beyond them now. He could no more understand this place than he could the changing of the day into night.
And so, as the paths to the Afterworld tilted ever higher with the breaking of the day, the traveller walked on.
“Maybe they’re guards. Like ours.”
Narayah snorted. “That’s stupid. You’re stupid, Ithilis.”
“No no, hear me out! They keep watch, make sure that the Enemies cannot enter. There must be a reasons the paths shut at night; maybe the Gate is vulnerable. So the Gods set guards.”
His friend cocked his head, considering. “I suppose,” he said slowly, “it’s not entirely impossible. But I don’t think it’s right.”
I frowned. “Well, what’s your great idea then!”
“It’s like the Plateau. It looks smaller when it’s further away, right? Maybe the Afterworld does too. And we can only see bits of it.”
I considered this for a while. Below us, the last few workers made their way Home. Beyond us, the world was silent.
“Huh.”
Neither of us spoke again. We simply stared out through the Gate at the flickering lights beyond.
The wind did not whistle anymore—it howled. The sound did not bother him. He had been climbing for so long that the howl of the abyss above and below was just a dull roar, background noise. Worse by far was the cutting, flitting cold. He paused, exhaling. The puffy could hovered for a split-second between his face and the wall, before another icy burst swept it away. He chanced a look upwards—nothing. The unnaturally flat cliff edge receded into the clouds, out of sight and reach. A look downwards almost showed the same in reverse. If he squinted, he could just make out the pale lines of the path he had walked across the plain far, far below.
Gritting his teeth, he began to pull himself up again.
“Come my son, hurry! Or we’ll be late again, and I for one have no wish to be scolded by your mother today.”
I stumbled slightly, my leg catching on the rough terrain, and my father slowed a little. He turned to me, an apology on his face.
“Careful now. I think I’ll get a worse lecture if I don’t bring you back in one piece!”
I put on a burst of speed, drawing alongside my father with a huff. I was five, I didn’t need to be babied anymore!
Unfortunately, I was focused more on keeping up than looking where I was going. I stumbled again, my cheeks puffing in indignation as my father chucked slightly, catching me by my torso without missing a single step. As I nursed my wounded pride, we rounded a corner and slowed to a trot as Home came in sight.
From the outside, it did not look like much. A roughly hewn crack in the white stone wall that ran some ten times my height, the entrance resembled a cave more than a true dwelling. But inside…
“Khalil! You’re cutting it a little fine today!”
My father laughed. “What, did you miss me? How sweet.”
The guard chuckled, waving an arm lazily. “Alright, head in you old rogue. And your brat too!”
Still laughing lightly, my father steered me inside. As we stepped through the opening, a part of me relaxed that I hadn’t known was there. I sighed, looking around with a smile.
Thousands of our people hurried back and forth, across walkways and bridges, slipping through hidden alcoves and alleyways, ducking into tunnels and down narrow stairways. The world outside was harsh and barren, but Home was… safe.
I started as a warm limb rested on my back. I looked up into the kind eyes of my father, scrunched up in a smile.
“It’s good to be back, isn’t it?” he said warmly. “Now, let’s go find your mother.”
It had taken many hours, but at last the climb was over. And yet it had all been for nought.
The traveller looked out with something close to despair at the landscape before him. The pretty, intricate patterns that swirled across the land did little to help his mood—had his quarry been here, he would have seen far less of them. It seemed the gods did not want their Gift to be given so easily this day.
He was weary, and he had far to go. Best to camp a while, and move on when rested. And if he had to sleep somewhere outside of Home, well, he could have picked worse places.
The Plateau was beautiful. He had heard older folk speak of it before; young workers, dreamily wishing to see the great sights of the outside world again, and a solemn reverence that came over the veteran guards. But until now, he had now understood.
The world below was nothing more than a splash of whites, browns and greys. It seemed so small from such a great height. And across from him, a grander sight still.
Closer now than ever before, the dull glow of the Afterworld shone through the Gate, the paths of the dead rising up and away from mortal lands. The end of the day was coming round, and soon it would be night—the first he had seen since he was a child. He only prayed that he might finish his task before the light faded.
But while the Gate’s splendour was a humbling thing indeed, the traveller found his gaze drawn to the glint of metal, hanging just below it. A wonder that he had heard of so many times throughout the years, but never seen for himself, his true prize.
The Well of Dreams.
“Malika! I have returned—and brought your son back alive, to boot.”
My mother was surrounded by my many siblings, their shouts and cries forming a familiar, discordant din. A maid fussed at her shoulder, but she ignored the distraction, turning to face us with smiling eyes. “You make it sound like such a challenge, Khalil. Maybe I should come out there with you next time, see what all the fuss is about.”
My father smiled. “Well now, that would hardly be fair! You are beautiful enough in here, my love. If you were to be graced by the light, why you’d put all the wonders of the world to shame, and then where would we be?”
My mother laughed, reaching down to pick up one of my youngest brothers, cradling him gently. “Oh shush, you old charmer.” She looked to me, her mirth shifting to concern, but suffused with the love I knew so well. “And you, Ithi? How was it?”
I beamed back at her. “It was incredible, mother!”
Some of the tension bled from her frame. “I’m glad—you’re still so young, I worried it might be too early for you to see the outside. I suppose I just worry too much.”
“I saw the gleaming plain! And father showed me the way to the Source, and I got to see the Plateau of Plenty, and-”
My excited chatter faded into the hum of my siblings chatter, as my mother listened with an indulgent smile.
When he awoke, the light had sunk a little lower, and the bright paths had passed a little higher.
It did not take him long to pack up—he had brought enough supplies for the journey, and to carry his prize back with him, and nothing else. There was no need for it. Shouldering his pack, he began the long walk to the Well.
Hours ticked by as he steadfastly continued on his way. The journey was not hard: up here, the dangers of the great plains that he had travelled all his life were far away, never venturing up into the heavens. But to make it he would have to cross the vast expanse of the Plateau in its entirety, into the strange domain of the gods, and then past that at last to the Well.
Time passed.
Mother stiffened, alert, then relaxed with a laugh. “I think someone is here to see you, Ithi."
A familiar face poked around the corner. “Narayah!” I bounded over to my oldest friend. “I went out!”
The anticipated awe, sadly, did not come. Narayah scoffed. “I know, stupid.” But despite his cutting words, he could not hide the excited gleam in his eyes. “Well?”
I smirked, in what I thought was a sly manner. “Well what?”
He rolled his eyes impatiently. “Well, how was it?”
I grinned at him. “Amazing.”
The Gods were strange beings. Fickle and inscrutable. That he was here at all was proof of it—if there was a pattern for where they left the Gift, a reason why, no one of the people had yet seen it.
And these structures…
No one knew what they were for. Legends spoke of how the great, gleaming edifice he walked past now had once been a source of the Gift, but the truth of that tale was lost to time. Certainly, it had not done anything in generations. Another that he had passed a while back, coloured the sickly red of blood, was known to make a terrible screech at the turn of the night into day. He was too young to remember the last time it had sounded, but his oldest siblings spoke of an unearthly noise with haunted eyes.
But, the traveller reflected, they must surely have a purpose. And a grand one, no less—after all, among their number was his final destination.
I had whiled away more than a few hours regaling my friend with my grand and not-so-grand exploits of the day, but eventually he had to leave. Exhausted but happy, I lazed in the central hall and wondered what to do.
“...to go up there one day, just like everyone else. Better prepared than sheltered; the Gods do not smile on the idle, my love.”
I perked up. Father was talking about me!
“He’s still so young! There are others who can go, and-”
“The Well is running dry, Malika. You know what that means.”
There was a moment of silence.
“..Yes.” My mother was whispering now. If I hadn’t been listening, I would never have heard her. “But I wish it was not so.”
Movement, closer and-!
I did my best to look innocent, and not as if I had been listening in, as my parents entered the hall. Mother continued through, no doubt to tend to my siblings, but my father lingered. He seemed troubled.
I hesitated.
“Father,” I asked, “Tell me again of how our people stole the Well from the Gods.”
It hung, shining and bright, over the Silver Abyss. The sight almost defied words; he had never seen anything so otherworldly. It looked so alien, and yet so strangely beautiful, that he almost wanted to reach out and touch it—but the Abyss was more than enough to bring him back to his senses.
If the Well possessed an alien beauty, then the Abyss possessed an alien terror. Gleaming with the same silvery, metallic glow as the Well, it was nothing more or less than the name suggested. An abyss, a great chasm from which there was no escape. The ultimate safeguard, the best protection the Gods could give against anything that might steal the purest waters.
He suppressed a shiver. Reluctantly, he tore his eyes away. As much as he wished to gaze at this wondrous sanctuary for longer, if he did not return with the Gift before the light gave out, he would be the first in generations to fail at a duty passed down, father to son and father to son.
No one was sure why the Gift sometimes appeared by the Well. The Gods reasons were unknowable—it was better not to question them. Sure enough, the great curve of the Gift’s vessel was clearly visible on the other side of the well; all the traveller had to do was walk around. Determined, and almost at the goal he sought, he set off.
Long ago, when the Gods had crafted the great shining Afterworld but had yet to build the Gate, and our people were barred from the shining paths of the dead, they looked down at us from far above and took pity.
And so the Gods convened, as they had done at the beginning of all things, and discussed among themselves how they might bring some relief to the people.
One proclaimed; “I will lavish them with a great Gift of food, the fruits of the heavens themselves.” And so that god forevermore gave the Gift to the people.
Another said; “I will build them a Gate, that they might join us in paradise when their labours are ended.” And so that god built the great Gate, and forevermore chartered the paths of the dead.
There was much rejoicing among the Gods, for they believed that such boons would give the people much relief.
But one god stood silent, gazing down upon the land.
She whispered; “I will make them a Well, that they might know the purest water. I will build an Abyss, that it might be protected from the unworthy. And then they will know dreams, and their souls will be unchained.”
And so that god made the Well, and the people knew dreams, and they were set free.
Hauling himself over the edge of the vessel, the traveller gazed with triumph at the bounty spread out before him. While the stock provided by the Source would feed his people, the strange and wondrous foods that came with the Gift were a luxury unlike any other; and luxuries were few and far between for his people.
He moved forward to begin collecting what he could, when he felt a vibration, buzzing through his feet and the very land itself.
His eyes widened and he straightened up, stiffening. Slowly, disbelievingly, he turned to face the empty sky.
Striding out of the clouds, ponderous and slow but stretching up high, higher than the plateau he stood on and higher than he could ever hope to see, covered in strange patterns and colours, changing in texture from one limb to the next.
Not for a hundred generations had the Gods walked. And now, somehow, there was one here.
He stared, overtaken by a strange, hungry fascination, unable to look away. With great deliberation, the god lifted up a strange, clear vessel—and opened up the Well of Dreams.
I listened with rapt amazement. I had heard the story a hundred times, but each time it seemed new to my ears.
“Many seasons passed, and one day a great warrior was born among the people. So great were his exploits, and so numerous his victories, that the Gods themselves chose to speak to him.
“They greeted the warrior and asked; “Is your blade sharp enough to meet any challenge? Is your mind cunning enough to face any foe?” And the warrior, unbending, answered; “Yes.”
“The Gods wished to test the warrior, and so they said; “Go fight the enemies of your people, until you have slain a hundred and one deadly warriors, and return when the night has turned to day.
“And so the warrior went forth, and slew a hundred and one of the great Enemies, and returned to the Gods when the night had turned to day.
“The Gods wished to test the warrior again, and so they said; “Build a home for your people, that they may live at peace, and return when the day has turned to night.
“And so the warrior went forth, and built the Home of his people, stalwart enough to last a thousand generations, and returned to the Gods when the day had turned to night.
“The Gods were pleased with the warriors prowess, and wished to reward him. But they could no agree who should give the warrior their favour, and so they fell to squabbling, and the land grew dark and the people shook with fear.
“The warrior was afraid, and went to leave, but a voice stopped him; “Great warrior, go to the Well and take a little of the purest water. If you should pass this final test, your reward will be great.””
A great rumbling, like the purr of some great, distant beast, came up from under the ground—and then with a gushing roar, water boiled up out of the Well.
Despite himself, the traveller moved closer. To be so close to a god was terrifying, a confrontation with his own mortality if there ever was one, but strangely exhilarating too. And he could not pass up the opportunity to see the Well of Dreams, open for the first time in living memory—longer, even.
He gazed up at the rushing spray, tumbling down into the vessel and past it into the great Silver Abyss.
All too soon, it was over. The god gestured, and with a creaking groan the Well juddered to a stop, the flow of water slowing to trickle, and then nothing at all.
The god lifted the vessel high, high up into the heavens, beyond the clouds and out of site. Just as slowly as before it turned, the paths of the dead curving around the great beings path, and with the same terrifying majesty with which it had arrived, left.
The traveller remained where he was. Long after the god left, he remained trembling, in awe at his close brush with divinity. A few minutes that seemed more like an eternity later, he slowly stood. He was not sure when he had fallen to his knees. He was not sure it really mattered. He looked around—and froze.
There, not feet away from him, was a small pool of water. Barely enough to be called a puddle. It seemed that a little of the great spray of water from before had been flung outwards, far enough to reach him. Hardly a drop of the great Well.
But that small drop was miraculous to his eyes. That clear vessel—even when filled with water, it had stayed clear. Water came in all colours and clearness, yes. But he had never seen water that flawless.
Purest water.
For a long moment, he sat there, staring down at the droplet of a god’s bounty.
“Come on Ithilis,” he muttered to himself. “Don’t mess this up.”
Then, before he could think better of it, he dropped down and drank.
“And so the warrior went forth to the Well. Although none had faced the Abyss and survived, the warrior was brave and cunning, and he was able to steal a little of the purest water. But the task was difficult, and so the warrior, tired and thirsty, drank from the purest water.
“At once, the voice that had spoken to the warrior before rang out all around; “You have passed your final test, and claimed your reward. Go back to your people, and tell them to honour me above all Gods, for I have given you the greatest boon I can.
“The purest waters coursed through the warrior, and she understood the secrets of the world below and the heavens above, and her mind was cleared and her body cleansed. And the warrior returned to our people, and became the first Queen; and since that day we have honoured Ezili above all other Gods, for it was she who helped us first steal from the Well of Dreams, and it is through her kindness that we may one day again.”
His vision fractured. The shards fell away, down down down into the dark—and so did he. He was falling, scattered shards flickering around him, down down-
He landed on something soft, and colour rippled out around him. Green and blue and red and yellow, blending and splitting and mixing again. How he could see this, he did not know—it was as if he was gazing at his own body from above, observing the patterns and whirls as they danced around his prone form. With a flash of panic, he realised that he was starting to sink, the colours lapping at his head, pulling over him.
He fell below the surface, and gasped as his vision went white. He thought for a moment that he had gone blind—but realised instead that he was standing in the same void as before, but before him lay the Afterworld itself, in all its glowing majesty. Bright and unchanging, waiting for his soul to be released—and for the first time he felt not a trace of fear at the thought. Instead, he was greeted by the unceasing certainty that when he met his end, his soul would be secured. Safe, and glorious.
Reaching out, his arm hovered inches away from the welcoming light. He pushed forward, brushing the very edge of eternity-
With a gasp, Ithilis jerked upright. At first, he could not recognise where he was, but after a moment, recognition came with a tinge of shock.
The day was gone, and night had at last come. How long had he been asleep?
No. That wasn’t right. As Ithilis stood up, the realisation came slowly but surely, elation spreading from every corner to the very core.
Not he. She.
“Hail, Ezili,” she whispered. A Queen. She was a Queen.
The first in generations. The first since mother.
She looked around. The vessel remained, its gift still waiting to be collected. With her new, stronger form, it was a simple enough task.
And then at last, with joy in her heart and a song on her lips, Ithilis left the Well of Dreams, and began her journey home.
“What is that, Father?”
Ahead of them was what looked to me like a small pool. But that couldn’t be all it was—otherwise father would not have been so serious.
“That, my son, is what your grandfather stole from the Gods.”
My breath caught. Strangely, as my young mind reeled, a single thought dashed through my head.
“It’s so small!”
My father looked amused, but his tone was chiding nonetheless. “To have even so little is a great gift. A treasure, precious beyond imagining.”
I looked on in awe, a little scared to go closer lest I somehow defile it. “Grandfather really stole the Well of Dreams?”
He shook his head. “Only a part of it, little one. The tiniest fraction.” He smiled. “But that, Ithilis, is all we need.”
Pics
I figured out what was going on in scene nine. Mostly by virtue of knowing what the available art was, but still.
There are still a few things I can't quite place (like what exactly is happening at the beginning of the penultimate scene) yet, but for the most part I think I worked out all your poetic kitchen descriptions.
My problem ends up being that, once I realized the gimmick, my interest kind of faded because the compelling force behind the narrative is that mystery. Ithilis gets just enough characterization to exist, but they aren't particularly compelling either? The stakes aren't really well established for them. The parallel narrative doesn't actually do a lot to illuminate their motivations (or really provide much in the way of stakes).
The parallel narratives also don't really build on each other tension or interest curve-wise either. The flashbacks are fairly flat and mostly informational, providing context for the current scenes. But them being set directly against the present scenes doesn't really add much IMO, and, by breaking up the journey, make it seem like a pretty minor thing instead of as harrowing as it seems like it should be.
Of course, the somewhat ironic problem is that pre-figuring out the gimmick, the Terminology and Words are so thick and fast that they really get in the way of actually trying to appreciate what's happening.
I dunno. This is cute conceptually, but I think as a story it comes up short because it is -too- focused on the gimmick. I'm a bit sleepy now though, so I'll take another look on rested eyes later.
There are still a few things I can't quite place (like what exactly is happening at the beginning of the penultimate scene) yet, but for the most part I think I worked out all your poetic kitchen descriptions.
My problem ends up being that, once I realized the gimmick, my interest kind of faded because the compelling force behind the narrative is that mystery. Ithilis gets just enough characterization to exist, but they aren't particularly compelling either? The stakes aren't really well established for them. The parallel narrative doesn't actually do a lot to illuminate their motivations (or really provide much in the way of stakes).
The parallel narratives also don't really build on each other tension or interest curve-wise either. The flashbacks are fairly flat and mostly informational, providing context for the current scenes. But them being set directly against the present scenes doesn't really add much IMO, and, by breaking up the journey, make it seem like a pretty minor thing instead of as harrowing as it seems like it should be.
Of course, the somewhat ironic problem is that pre-figuring out the gimmick, the Terminology and Words are so thick and fast that they really get in the way of actually trying to appreciate what's happening.
I dunno. This is cute conceptually, but I think as a story it comes up short because it is -too- focused on the gimmick. I'm a bit sleepy now though, so I'll take another look on rested eyes later.
I like this, I really do. The concept is cool, and the writing evocative. But >>AndrewRogue has a point--the narrative seems a little too focused around the gimmick of the ant in the kitchen.
I still liked it though.
I still liked it though.
I never got:
Any real image of what anything looked like. I kept thinking we were outside in a park around a drinking fountain or a spigot with a garden hose attached or something. But then the ending with the queen coming in made me wonder if we're dealing with a terrestrial situation at all--once again, never having taken biology in school leaves me confused as to how the insect world works. In the end, though, I couldn't form any pictures in my head of what's going on here. Everything was way too abstract for me to feel any attachment to the goings-on...
Mike
Any real image of what anything looked like. I kept thinking we were outside in a park around a drinking fountain or a spigot with a garden hose attached or something. But then the ending with the queen coming in made me wonder if we're dealing with a terrestrial situation at all--once again, never having taken biology in school leaves me confused as to how the insect world works. In the end, though, I couldn't form any pictures in my head of what's going on here. Everything was way too abstract for me to feel any attachment to the goings-on...
Mike
I like the package fairly well. There are a couple of typos, but it reads clean and has some great, if impenetrable, descriptions.
The esoteric nature of those descriptions, on the other hand, did make it difficult to firmly visualize the world, as >>Baal Bunny said, and that left me grasping for meaning and how to set the scene.
That is, unfortunately, how I spent most of the rest of the story, trying to tease out the importance of name choices, some hints from descriptions, the grandiose mysticism. I was able to do that because the driving impulse of the story never caught me. I cottoned on to the ant angle fairly early, but all that did was change my focus to "how does this fit that piece of art?". It then became a matching puzzle rather than providing a solution that let me get back to the story.
I had no reason to care about Ithilis's quest because I didn't know what they were doing; I couldn't get on to why or how when I was stuck with what and where.
The divine mystery from two angles has potential, balancing the active quest against the historical inspiration with alternating POVs. But something weighty is missing, something to anchor me, the reader, to the mystery through the character's eyes rather than my own.
The esoteric nature of those descriptions, on the other hand, did make it difficult to firmly visualize the world, as >>Baal Bunny said, and that left me grasping for meaning and how to set the scene.
That is, unfortunately, how I spent most of the rest of the story, trying to tease out the importance of name choices, some hints from descriptions, the grandiose mysticism. I was able to do that because the driving impulse of the story never caught me. I cottoned on to the ant angle fairly early, but all that did was change my focus to "how does this fit that piece of art?". It then became a matching puzzle rather than providing a solution that let me get back to the story.
I had no reason to care about Ithilis's quest because I didn't know what they were doing; I couldn't get on to why or how when I was stuck with what and where.
The divine mystery from two angles has potential, balancing the active quest against the historical inspiration with alternating POVs. But something weighty is missing, something to anchor me, the reader, to the mystery through the character's eyes rather than my own.
I didn't understand what had happened until I got to the comments. Oops. I need to brush up on my ant science, I guess.
I think Watchglass puts it best when he says the descriptions are great, but impenetrable. Because they're that way by design. The story can't describe anything clearly to us because it would prematurely reveal to us what's going on, yet the story is written with the descriptions of the environment as the main event, so everything's beautiful, but we're not allowed to see it.
And that's the main issue here. I don't have much to add that hasn't already been said, but I just want to point out that this is really priority number one. Author, I think if you wanted to tackle this story again, there's a lot to be said for having the "twist" established up front. It's tough to pull off a story about ants, but I think getting it out of the way makes for a prettier story.
But thank you for submitting! You've done a good thing. Best of luck in the voting!
I think Watchglass puts it best when he says the descriptions are great, but impenetrable. Because they're that way by design. The story can't describe anything clearly to us because it would prematurely reveal to us what's going on, yet the story is written with the descriptions of the environment as the main event, so everything's beautiful, but we're not allowed to see it.
And that's the main issue here. I don't have much to add that hasn't already been said, but I just want to point out that this is really priority number one. Author, I think if you wanted to tackle this story again, there's a lot to be said for having the "twist" established up front. It's tough to pull off a story about ants, but I think getting it out of the way makes for a prettier story.
But thank you for submitting! You've done a good thing. Best of luck in the voting!
Super late on this retrospective (IRL stuff kept getting in the way), but here goes!
It seems people didn't think too highly of this entry, which is fair enough; it's certainly not my best work. I think I may have become a little too invested with the 'gimmick' of the story, as it were, and rather lost out on some of the much needed content. But this was the definition of a last minute entry, and if nothing else has let my prove to myself that I can, in fact, finish an original piece of fiction. That's worth its weight in gold to me, regardless of how good or otherwise the final product ended up being.
Anyway, let's start with >>AndrewRogue:
I don't think most people need it, but confirmation if you did--this was indeed supposed to be about an ant on his epic quest to the kitchen sink.
This is a very accurate and fair criticism. I don't really have much to respond with other than 'I'll try and do better next time'. I don't think I'm going to rework this particular piece.
This is actually very helpful. I've noticed that I have a tendency to drift towards these parallel narratives, so it's good to know that they weren't effective here. I can see what you mean about them breaking up the journey too. Thanks.
Also good to know! I think this is in part, as I said up at the top, down to me getting too hung up on the gimmick. I think I was trying too hard to make the gimmick shrouded in mystery, and I just ended up writing very confusing prose instead.
100% agreed. I really need to stop writing these entries at 5AM the day of in a mad rush--maybe that will help me write an actual focused narrative.
Next up, >>Baal Bunny:
I mentioned this in my response to AndrewRogue's comment, but it bears repeating--I got way too hung up on the gimmick in this. So much so that it really impacted the quality of the actual writing, as I was too focused on making sure the whole 'an ant travelling through a kitchen' thing was hidden enough people wouldn't spot it, but obvious enough that people would go 'oohhhh' (I pretty clearly failed to accomplish either). I didn't think about how people without much insect knowledge would read this either. Thanks for the comment, sorry the story didn't deliver much.
Let's see if third time is the charm for me and have a look at >>Watchglass Mercury's comment:
Yay! Given this story is almost entirely made up of impenetrable descriptions, I'm pleased some of them landed.
I'll say it again--I got way too caught up in my gimmick for the story. Definitely negatively impacted the actual quality of the storytelling.
This is very useful feedback. I'll be keeping this in mind, and trying to avoid these pitfalls, for the next pic-to-fic round.
I think my real problem (the 'something weighty' as it were) is character. It's always been a failing of my original writing--I can build an interesting world, and I don't think my prose is mechanically too shabby, but I kinda suck at characters. :/ Definitely something to work on.
I think I might also have been too ambitious? Epic adventure in what, 3000 words? Not the best plan. Anyway, thank you for the feedback!
Last but never least, we have >>Miller Minus:
For shame! :y Best get cracking with that revision; the exam will be on Tuesday. :p
Yeah, you really hit the nail on the head there. Reading through it again, there's so much I held back on, or didn't adequately explore or describe, because I was trying to hide the reveal.
That's definitely good advice, and almost certainly how I'd go about rewriting this. But I think I'm just going to leave this as it is for posterity's sake. Maybe I can come back in a few years and go 'wow I really sucked back then huh?'. One can dream.
I appreciate this sentiment a lot, and it's why I'm not too upset about my placing in this. In the end, I'm here to try and improve as a writer--better to try and fail, than not put forward anything at all.
Thank you all for commenting, and see you in the next round!
It seems people didn't think too highly of this entry, which is fair enough; it's certainly not my best work. I think I may have become a little too invested with the 'gimmick' of the story, as it were, and rather lost out on some of the much needed content. But this was the definition of a last minute entry, and if nothing else has let my prove to myself that I can, in fact, finish an original piece of fiction. That's worth its weight in gold to me, regardless of how good or otherwise the final product ended up being.
Anyway, let's start with >>AndrewRogue:
I figured out what was going on in scene nine. Mostly by virtue of knowing what the available art was, but still.
There are still a few things I can't quite place (like what exactly is happening at the beginning of the penultimate scene) yet, but for the most part I think I worked out all your poetic kitchen descriptions.
I don't think most people need it, but confirmation if you did--this was indeed supposed to be about an ant on his epic quest to the kitchen sink.
My problem ends up being that, once I realized the gimmick, my interest kind of faded because the compelling force behind the narrative is that mystery. Ithilis gets just enough characterization to exist, but they aren't particularly compelling either? The stakes aren't really well established for them. The parallel narrative doesn't actually do a lot to illuminate their motivations (or really provide much in the way of stakes).
This is a very accurate and fair criticism. I don't really have much to respond with other than 'I'll try and do better next time'. I don't think I'm going to rework this particular piece.
The parallel narratives also don't really build on each other tension or interest curve-wise either. The flashbacks are fairly flat and mostly informational, providing context for the current scenes. But them being set directly against the present scenes doesn't really add much IMO, and, by breaking up the journey, make it seem like a pretty minor thing instead of as harrowing as it seems like it should be.
This is actually very helpful. I've noticed that I have a tendency to drift towards these parallel narratives, so it's good to know that they weren't effective here. I can see what you mean about them breaking up the journey too. Thanks.
Of course, the somewhat ironic problem is that pre-figuring out the gimmick, the Terminology and Words are so thick and fast that they really get in the way of actually trying to appreciate what's happening.
Also good to know! I think this is in part, as I said up at the top, down to me getting too hung up on the gimmick. I think I was trying too hard to make the gimmick shrouded in mystery, and I just ended up writing very confusing prose instead.
I dunno. This is cute conceptually, but I think as a story it comes up short because it is -too- focused on the gimmick. I'm a bit sleepy now though, so I'll take another look on rested eyes later.
100% agreed. I really need to stop writing these entries at 5AM the day of in a mad rush--maybe that will help me write an actual focused narrative.
Next up, >>Baal Bunny:
I never got:
Any real image of what anything looked like. I kept thinking we were outside in a park around a drinking fountain or a spigot with a garden hose attached or something. But then the ending with the queen coming in made me wonder if we're dealing with a terrestrial situation at all--once again, never having taken biology in school leaves me confused as to how the insect world works. In the end, though, I couldn't form any pictures in my head of what's going on here. Everything was way too abstract for me to feel any attachment to the goings-on...
Mike
I mentioned this in my response to AndrewRogue's comment, but it bears repeating--I got way too hung up on the gimmick in this. So much so that it really impacted the quality of the actual writing, as I was too focused on making sure the whole 'an ant travelling through a kitchen' thing was hidden enough people wouldn't spot it, but obvious enough that people would go 'oohhhh' (I pretty clearly failed to accomplish either). I didn't think about how people without much insect knowledge would read this either. Thanks for the comment, sorry the story didn't deliver much.
Let's see if third time is the charm for me and have a look at >>Watchglass Mercury's comment:
I like the package fairly well. There are a couple of typos, but it reads clean and has some great, if impenetrable, descriptions.
Yay! Given this story is almost entirely made up of impenetrable descriptions, I'm pleased some of them landed.
The esoteric nature of those descriptions, on the other hand, did make it difficult to firmly visualize the world, as >>Baal Bunny said, and that left me grasping for meaning and how to set the scene.
I'll say it again--I got way too caught up in my gimmick for the story. Definitely negatively impacted the actual quality of the storytelling.
That is, unfortunately, how I spent most of the rest of the story, trying to tease out the importance of name choices, some hints from descriptions, the grandiose mysticism. I was able to do that because the driving impulse of the story never caught me. I cottoned on to the ant angle fairly early, but all that did was change my focus to "how does this fit that piece of art?". It then became a matching puzzle rather than providing a solution that let me get back to the story.
I had no reason to care about Ithilis's quest because I didn't know what they were doing; I couldn't get on to why or how when I was stuck with what and where.
This is very useful feedback. I'll be keeping this in mind, and trying to avoid these pitfalls, for the next pic-to-fic round.
The divine mystery from two angles has potential, balancing the active quest against the historical inspiration with alternating POVs. But something weighty is missing, something to anchor me, the reader, to the mystery through the character's eyes rather than my own.
I think my real problem (the 'something weighty' as it were) is character. It's always been a failing of my original writing--I can build an interesting world, and I don't think my prose is mechanically too shabby, but I kinda suck at characters. :/ Definitely something to work on.
I think I might also have been too ambitious? Epic adventure in what, 3000 words? Not the best plan. Anyway, thank you for the feedback!
Last but never least, we have >>Miller Minus:
I didn't understand what had happened until I got to the comments. Oops. I need to brush up on my ant science, I guess.
For shame! :y Best get cracking with that revision; the exam will be on Tuesday. :p
I think Watchglass puts it best when he says the descriptions are great, but impenetrable. Because they're that way by design. The story can't describe anything clearly to us because it would prematurely reveal to us what's going on, yet the story is written with the descriptions of the environment as the main event, so everything's beautiful, but we're not allowed to see it.
Yeah, you really hit the nail on the head there. Reading through it again, there's so much I held back on, or didn't adequately explore or describe, because I was trying to hide the reveal.
And that's the main issue here. I don't have much to add that hasn't already been said, but I just want to point out that this is really priority number one. Author, I think if you wanted to tackle this story again, there's a lot to be said for having the "twist" established up front. It's tough to pull off a story about ants, but I think getting it out of the way makes for a prettier story.
That's definitely good advice, and almost certainly how I'd go about rewriting this. But I think I'm just going to leave this as it is for posterity's sake. Maybe I can come back in a few years and go 'wow I really sucked back then huh?'. One can dream.
But thank you for submitting! You've done a good thing. Best of luck in the voting!
I appreciate this sentiment a lot, and it's why I'm not too upset about my placing in this. In the end, I'm here to try and improve as a writer--better to try and fail, than not put forward anything at all.
Thank you all for commenting, and see you in the next round!