island

                                                                Sweet Dreams

                                                              by Derick Walburger

       The nearly cloudless sky blushed crimson as the sun peeked over the horizon. The early morning light stretched across the vast expanse of ocean, washing finally up on the shore of the small island of Wanapuakiki. The warm Pacific sunrise shimmered off the white crystal sand of the beach, before dancing its way inland. As the light fell across it, the lush vegetation cast off the drab shadows of night for the brilliant greens and golds of day. Poets, scholars, and kings would have marveled at the beauty of the moment, but on the remote island of Wanapuakiki no one noticed. Not far from the spot where the soft rays of morning light first caressed the lonely shore, snores resounded through a still sleeping village.
       The only village of Wanapuakiki was home to a hundred or so simple islanders. The tiny island was as far from civilization as a human could get. This meant of course that the villagers were unusually happy?not knowing that they shouldn't be.
       The fact that on the island the wheel had not been invented yet did not concern these simple people. On an island that you can almost see across, where are you going to go? They really didn't care about math either. There were always more fish in the lagoon than anyone could ever catch. All of life's conveniences were of little significance on a tropical island where the biggest challenge of normal, everyday life hinged on the question of how many bananas you could eat in a day without getting sick.
       In truth, the only thing that really concerned the islanders was cannibals. Wanapuakiki was renowned for its large population?physically speaking. To man-eaters, the island was the
smorgasbord of the South Pacific. Fortunately for the plump inhabitants of Wanapuakiki, their island was so remote that cannibals only ever found their haven every hundred years or so. This was certainly sufficient time to forget why they should be prepared for a cannibal attack. Had they bothered counting, that bright, sunny morning marked the hundred and fifth anniversary of the last cannibal landing.
       Much later in the day, the islanders finally began to crawl from their huts to face the day. Children chased each other through the village. The elders gathered in the shade of the gigantic shade tree in the center of the village. Some of the young men marched down to the lagoon with their fishing spears to catch supper for the evening communal feast.
Only in one hut at the periphery of the village did the sounds of blissful snoring still emanate. No one seemed to take any note of this fact, and if you were to point it out to any of the villagers, they certainly would not have been surprised. Rocks, the young man that lived there, was easily the laziest person in Wanapuakiki's long history. His real name was actually Rocobuludrau, but everyone called him Rocks. The nickname was less of a shortened version of his given name, than a description of what everyone thought his brain was made of.
       Rocks lived alone with his widowed mother. Their grass hut was small and in the early stages of dilapidation. The roof leaked and certain stale odors wafting from the vicinity tended to attract unwanted guests. As the day grew warmer the flies around the hut grew thicker. They seemed to gravitate toward the dwelling. One fat fly, seemingly inspired as to the source of the odors, buzzed through one of the small windows of the hut. The winged intruder circled then landed on the dark-skinned figure curled up in the corner. Rocks awoke enough to lazily swipe at the annoying fly, and then returned to his blissful slumber.
       The insect flew just high enough to avoid the pathetic attempt to get rid of it, and then the bug nestled noisily back down on the sleeping islander's nose. ?Wake the human' seemed to be this particular fly's favorite game.
       Rocks snorted this time as he felt the sticky footed fly on his face. He waved frantically at the intruder, then lay back down with a grunt. The bug took off, landing shortly thereafter on the lazy youth's leg.
       As most people do when a fly is in the room when they are trying to sleep, Rocks started getting mad. He opened one eye (a common practice of those trying to fool their bodies into thinking that they are still asleep), located the fly, and swiped with all the dexterity of someone half asleep. He missed. The fly, perhaps concerned with the increasing accuracy of his victim, decided to find another less active subject. To the intense satisfaction of the lazy islander, the bug zoomed out the window. With a sigh, Rocks made himself comfortable on the reed mat and almost instantly recommenced his lusty snoring.
       A short time later, another disturbance awoke Rocks from his slumber. He groaned when he realized that, unlike the fly, this annoyance was not going to go away.
       The shrill sound of his mother's voice erased any hope that Rocks might have of finishing his favorite dream. He sat up, muttering under his breath things that no one should ever say about their mother. He ran a filthy hand through the black mop of hair perched atop his head while trying to figure out exactly what was happening.
His mother called out again, this time closer and unmistakable. "Rocks!"
He could hear his mother's heavy footsteps approaching the door of the hut. There was no time to hide, so the still drowsy youth did his best to pretend that he had actually been awake for hours. Rocks sat up quickly and tried to rub the sleep from his eyes.
       Rocks' mother entered the hut in a huff. As she passed through the doorway, the room suddenly got darker. She was not what anyone would describe as a large woman. No, she was much bigger than that. She filled the entire entryway and then some. The common joke among the islanders was that if she gained any more weight the island was going to sink.
       Even though she could see him, Rocks' mother called out his name. "Rocks!" Her voice echoed off the walls of the walls of the tiny hut with all the force of a hurricane.
       "What?" Rocks stammered while holding his ears. He knew very well what she was going to say.
       "I told you an hour ago to go get me some oranges. Where are they?" She said all of this while brandishing a stick she had seemingly pulled out of mid air.
Rocks knew exactly where the conversation was going. He and his mother acted out this same drama almost every morning. This time he decided to save himself the pain that came from fighting against the system.
       "All right, I'm going already." Rocks stood up, marched across the room, and tried to squeeze past his mother who blocked the majority of the doorway.
       Just when he thought that he had escaped, the inevitable happened. Thwack. The stick, that his mother always seemed to be holding when she talked to him, smacked across his buttocks.
       "That is just a reminder of what you'll get if you don't hurry back. I've got a lot more chores for you to do today."
       "I'm sure you do," Rocks mumbled under his breath?adding something that no one should ever say about their mother.
       His mother raised her stick again which was enough to send Rocks scurrying away.
       As he passed out of sight behind one of the other domed huts, Rocks heard his mother yell after him. "If I have to come up there because you are sleeping again, you'll get it."
       Rocks rubbed his still stinging behind. He knew exactly what she was talking about. He cringed at the thought, although the thought of his mother climbing the mountain to come get him took some of the sting out of the image.
       Rocks hurried gate slowed dramatically the further he got from his house and his mothers stick. He didn't see any need to rush. The day was still young.
       As he crossed through the village, Rocks began to hum to himself. His outlook on his task for the day slowly began to change. He enjoyed being by himself. The bitter thoughts of the hard trek up the volcano to reach the orchard lessened considerably as he imagined the beauty and solitude at the journey's end. Rocks avoided work like the plague, but this was perhaps the one job that he could learn to enjoy.
       He had almost reached the opposite edge of the village before he remembered that he needed a basket to carry the oranges. Reluctantly, he turned around to go find one. He remembered seeing a small basket over by the Chief's hut, so he headed in that direction. The only problem with that plan came in avoiding Vavaloa, the Chief's son. The only other basket he
could remember seeing though, was back at his hut. Rocks would rather risk an encounter with Vavaloa over his angry mother any day.
       As he approached his destination, Rocks heard voices that told him he was not going to escape without a confrontation. The lazy youth groaned at his misfortune. He considered the thought of returning to his mother without her oranges. The vision this thought provided caused him to cringe. He decided to brave a potentially embarrassing situation now, rather than face his mother's legendary wrath.
       Rocks slinked out from behind a hut. What he saw confirmed his worst fears. There was Vavaloa and a group of his friends sitting in a circle around a Grog bowl in front of the Chief's hut. One of the larger boys was using the basket he needed as an armrest.
       Hoping that he could escape unseen, Rocks turned abruptly on his heel. Never having been known or his grace, the lanky boy tripped over himself and fell on his face. Rocks came up sputtering with a mouth full of dirt.
       Mocking laughter broke out behind him. Rocks felt his cheeks flush. Nothing could save him now. He scrambled to his feet and turned to face the group of boys laughing hysterically at his expense.
       "I, um, just came to get a basket," Rocks stammered in explanation.
       Vavaloa answered first. A snide grin split hi brown face. "I've never seen that approach before. That must be some basket to have frightened you like that."
       The rest of the boys erupted again at their leaders witty comment. Many of them were laughing so hard they were crying. Rocks just stood there, rooted to the ground like a tree.
      There was no escape.
       "I can't remember when I last saw someone so scared," the Chief's son continued. "Oh wait, yes I do. It was just last week, when that wild boar chased you up that tree. I don't think I will ever forget the expression on your face."
       The rest of Vavaloa's gang were now writhing on the ground, gasping for breath. Their loud snorting was attracting everyone within earshot. Rocks knew that if he didn't get out of there soon, the whole village would be there laughing at him. The crimson face youth rushed over and grabbed the reed basket that had gotten him into this mess.
       As he was leaving, he couldn't help from saying something in his defense. "The Boar came out of nowhere. There was nothing else I could do."
       This caused anyone who had regained their composure and everyone who had just arrived to see what all the commotion was about to break into hysterics. There was nothing left for Rocks to do but run away. He raced through the village and up the trail.
       Rocks finally halted his mad flight when his heart felt like it was going to explode. He collapsed on the side of the trail and fought to regain his breath. After a long time of wheezing and coughing, Rocks finally reached the point where his brain started to work again. From his surroundings, he recognized that he was about a mile from his village. Although he could no longer hear their voices, the laughter of the villagers still rang horribly in his head. He had been the butt of every joke for the last week, and it was really starting to get to him.
       All Rocks wanted out of life was to be left alone. He didn't have any ambitions or dreams of grandeur. While others boys in the village aspired to be great hunters and leaders, Rocks thought only of quiet, shady places for mid-afternoon naps. Never once in his life had he thought that it might be nice one day to be the Chief or a Witch Doctor. In fact, most of his nightmares had him playing those exact roles. What Rocks wanted more than anything else in the world was a lonely place where he could find some peace.
       When the blood finally stopped pounding in his head, rocks stood up shakily. Exhausted, he stooped to retrieve his cursed basket, then continued down the trail.
       It did not take long for Rocks to forget the horrible incident that had just occurred in the village. The beautiful scenery and the pleasant smells of the dense forest made him think of the secluded grove at the end of the trail. A nice nap would fix everything.
It took him a little over an hour to reach the grove of orange trees at the base of the volcano. The young islander filled his lungs with the fragrant air. After entering a short distance into the fruit trees, he stopped and stood completely still. He listened for a short while. A crooked smile crept across his face. Rocks could hear the birds chirping, the faint bubbling of a nearby waterfall, but the thing that made him smile was the absence of human voices. In this secluded refuge, the nagging voice of his mother and the mocking laughter of Vavaloa and his friends died away altogether. Rocks felt utterly alone, and that was just the way he liked it. He walked over to the shade of an orange tree, discarded the basket, and plopped himself down with his back against the trunk of the tree. In moments, he was fast asleep.
       As Rocks slumbered, he dreamed. It was the same innocent fantasy he always had. He was alone on his own little island with nothing to do all day but sleep, eat, and sleep some more. There was no one to bug him and responsibility no longer had any meaning.
Rocks was enjoying his dream when something suddenly changed. The weather on his fictitious island was always perfect, neither too hot nor too cold. A beautiful azure sky and a soft pacific breeze usually caressed his senses. But this time, halfway through his dream, the wind suddenly picked up. The fact that it got windier did not bother him as much as the nature of the new puffs of air. The wind was blowing only on his feet. Different from the normal cool, dry breezes of his dreams, this one felt wet and rhythmic. Almost like . . . ?
       Breathing!
       Rocks sat bolt upright. It was a lucky thing he did, too. The sudden movement scared the wild boar that was sniffing his leg out of its skin. There was only one creature on Wanapuakiki that terrified Rocks more than his mother. In his darkest nightmares, wild boars reigned supreme. The shaggy beast in front of him was no dream, though. This was real.
Rocks scrambled madly to his feet. He took off sprinting like his butt was on fire. Just looking at the young islander you would never have believed that he could run that fast. Rocks had a significant lead on the boar before it realized what was happening, then the chase was on. Rocks ran for his life, heedless of anything that might be in his path. He could still feel the boar's hot breath burning his legs.
Bushes, branches, and broad leaves slapped at his face and body as he plummeted down the path. Pure fear drove him onward, even when his body screamed at him to just give it up. The boar was on his heels gaining every second.
       Rocks let out a horrific scream. The shriek scarred everything in the forest--except of course the wild boar which seemed inspired further in its pursuit. Rocks risked a quick glance over his shoulder at exactly the wrong time. He might have missed the root stretched out across the trail if he hadn't looked back. The root caught his right ankle, sending the youth sprawling. Fortunately, the boar had almost caught him when this happened. The awkward fall saved his life. The pig was too close to stop its momentum. The crazed beast went hurtling over top of the fallen human. Rocks grunted as the boar trampled across his back. At least it was better than the tusks. The boar overshot Rocks by a mile which gave him a short time to clamber painfully back to his feet. Perhaps realizing that he could never outrun the wild pig, Rocks used his last ounce of strength to rush to a nearby palm tree. He scampered up the slick bark like a monkey.
       He stayed hugged precariously at the top of the tree for some time before he came back to his senses. He looked down from his lofty perch. The boar circled the base of the tree. Saliva dripped from the pigs large snout and its bloodshot eyes stared wildly up at its treed victim. The boar had the look of a relentless demon that had no intention of searching elsewhere for amusement. Rocks groaned and pressed his forehead against the cool bark of the tree. This was becoming a habit. Just last week this exact same thing had happened, only under infinitely more embarrassing circumstances.
Every male islander on Wanapuakiki had to pass the same trial to become a man. Rocks had made his first attempt a week earlier. He had failed miserably.
       The test of manhood was a wild boar hunt. Rocks had left early in the morning with a group of fellow hunters?one of them was unfortunately the pompous Vavaloa. It had been easy to find the tracks of a boar, which the party had followed to a nearby clearing. The boar was routing about in the soil for who knows what when they first caught a glimpse of it. It seemed oblivious to the humans' approach.
       The trial did not consist merely of killing a boar. The candidate had to face the charge of the murderous beast head on, letting it impale itself on the hunters spear. Needless to say, few returned from the experience unscathed.
       Vavaloa, slightly older than Rocks, had passed his test earlier that year. The brawny bully had not only succeeded, he had done what no one had ever thought possible. Vavaloa had killed his first boar with little problem, but with his spear still embedded in the first corpse, another angry beast had appeared. The boar had charged. Instead of running away like anyone else with sense would have done, Vavaloa had met the thunderous charge head on. The Chieftain's son killed the boar in true heroic fashion with nothing but his teeth and bare hands. How was anyone supposed to compare with that?
Rocks was destined for failure in his own test from the start. Even though he had pleaded with the others that he was not ready, the other hunters, led by Vavaloa, continued with the initiation anyway. One hunter stepped into the clearing, showing himself and whistling to catch the boar's attention. The wild pig was only of average size, but to the frightened Rocks it seemed a monster. The pig charged the exposed warrior who raced back, leaving Rocks in the front to meet the charge. When the boar first broke through the bushes, Rocks knew that he was finished if he stay put. He did not even show a semblance of bravery. He dropped his flimsy spear and sprinted in the opposite direction squealing louder than the pig. He had located the nearest tree and shot up to the top without touching a branch. All of this was accompanied by the uncontrollable laughter of Vavaloa and the others. To add insult to injury, Vavaloa had killed the boar with a nonchalant thrust when it charged the rest of the group still on the ground.
       As Rocks reflected on his current predicament, he couldn't help from thinking that if Vavaloa saw him now, the bully would probably die of laughter. The fact that he was a yellow coward didn't really bother Rocks all that much. He just didn't like it when people laughed at him.
       Risking a quick glance downward, he reaffirmed his suspicion that the boar was not planing on leaving any time soon. All Rocks could do was close his eyes and hold on to the tree. There was no way that he could make it back in time to avoid a beating from his mother for his tardiness. Still, Rocks was far more frightened of the boar circling at the base of the tree than anything that his mother might do to him. He would just have to wait until the beast got bored and found something more interesting to do. Whatever happened though, he was determined in one thing. No one would ever find out about this embarrassing incident.
       After several hours of being stuck in the top of the palm tree, Rocks started to lose some of his fear. The boar had found a nice cosy spot at the base of the tree where it slept fitfully. Never once had the thought of climbing down and sneaking past the dozing beast entered Rocks mind, but that didn't mean that he couldn't enjoy the time he had to himself?even if it was in the top of a tree.
       Rocks had randomly chosen the perfect refuge. The palm tree he was in was slightly taller than any of the other trees in the vicinity, so there was nothing to obstruct his view. The tree was also not far from a cliff that overlooked most of the beach along one side of the island. As Rocks took his bearings, he realized that, if he craned his neck enough, he might be able to see his village. It took a long time for him to get guts enough to let loose of the tree, but when he finally turned around, he found that he could indeed see the tiny huts of his village. He was so high up that the people looked like tiny ants scurrying about. The more he watched, the more the frenzied activity began to bother him. The scorching noon sun hung directly overhead. On any other day, the villagers would either be playing in the cool water of the lagoon or resting under the shade trees. But today everyone seemed to be rushing about aimlessly. Rocks was curious, but what was he to do, stuck up in the tree as he was.
Rocks decided that there were better things to do than speculate about something that he was never going to figure out. Vavaloa had probably killed another boar, and the villagers were most likely preparing him a huge feast. Rocks wanted no part of that.
       The young islander craned his neck to find what else he could see. From the top of the tree, he had a really nice view of the lagoon. The clear water was a mixture of blue and green depending on the depth of the water. Further out, he could see also see the rolling waves breaking up against the reef. And squinting, he was just able to make out the outline of the cannibal canoes approaching in the distance.
       This last sight caused his heart to leap into his throat. He would have rubbed his eyes, had his hands not been essential to his staying in the tree. Instead he blinked several times and hoped that his eyes were playing tricks on him. They weren't.
As anyone who realizes that they are about to become the main course at a cannibal barbeque, Rocks began to shake violently and cry. This new problem seemed too much for his over stressed brain to handle. That morning, his mother had already yelled at him, he had been
the object of public ridicule, most recently a wild pig had been intent on tearing him into little pieces, and now, added to all that, he might soon be spitted and roasted over an open fire. Who wouldn't have cracked?
       The problem with the human fight or flight system is that it doesn't take into account your current location when it kicks in. All your body knows is that it has to run away or stay and fight. There was really never any doubt as to which option Rocks would pick. Considering the cannibals to be a greater danger than falling out of a forty-foot tree, Rocks simply let go of his perch. The impact of the fall probably would have killed anyone else, but he was so hyped up on adrenalin that he popped right up. Plus, the boar sleeping under the tree had broken his fall.
       Needless to say, the boar was not happy. The pig jumped up searching for the culprit that had awakened it so violently from its sleep. By the time the time the beast had located its victim, Rocks was almost out of sight, running like a madman. The pig tore after the fleeing islander with murder in its eyes.
       Rocks ran at breakneck speed straight for his village. His intent, of course, had been to flee the other way, but his sense of direction was all messed up. He didn't notice it, but as he ran screaming down the trail, he had caught the attention of several more creatures that he normally would not want following him. In a very short amount of time, he had a half dozen wild boars on his tail.
       The scene back at the village could only be described as pandemonium. People were running everywhere. A hundred and five years without having to deal with a major crisis tends to make cowards of even the bravest societies. From their ghost stories, everyone knew what was coming. Cannibals eat people. It was a simple fact. Everyone was resigned to the fact that they were going to be eaten in the near future. The thought that they might organize themselves and fight back never occurred to anyone. Even the mighty Vavaloa was stricken with fear and hid pitifully behind a banana tree. Fighting boars was one thing, but cannibals were another matter altogether.
       Rocks ran until his heart threatened to burst. He was not far from the village, but in his current state he didn't recognize any of the familiar landmarks. Some of the initial fear he had felt was wearing out, replaced with sheer exhaustion. That was when he had noticed the pack of bloodthirsty boars following him. Any thoughts of stopping remarkably faded from his frenzied mind.
He ran heedlessly. Something caught his ankle, and he fell, arms windmilling. Instead of the hard impact he had expected, he splatted face first into a pool of mud. Not just any mud. But gooey, sticky, swampy mud. It smelled as though some animal had been decomposing there for some time.
       Rocks pulled his head from the ooze and gasped for breath. A thick cloud of flies hovered over the muck. He had never felt so disgusted in his entire life. Luckily, he really didn't have the time to contemplate what he was laying in. The pack of wild boars had used the time Rocks spent wallowing in the mud to catch up. There has never been a pig born that would be deterred in a chase by a little mud. The pack of boars plunged right into the goop, intent on ripping Rocks to shreds.
       Rocks screamed, or at least he tried to. He was getting rather hoarse. The mud did its
best to hold on to him, but Rocks was finally able to fight his way free from the slop. The boars were right on his tail.
       Rocks ran much slower now. Not only because he had already sprinted over a mile, but also because he was coated in several inches of slime. Somehow, he still managed to keep his small lead on the boars. They were also tiring from the long chase.
       Back on the beach, the cannibals were just landing. Most of the villagers lay panic stricken on their faces, praying to their gods that they would not appear appetizing. Most prayed for deliverance, some tried to hide, and others just ran around in circles muttering incoherently. Those that prayed were most surprised by what happened next.
       One of the pagan gods worshiped most universally in the islands was Racaabebla, the god of vengeance. No one had ever claimed to have seen this god, but it was sometimes said that he visited the earth periodically in the guise of a giant wild boar. He was the kind of god that few worshiped directly, but to whom everyone still made the odd token sacrifice so as to not incur his anger?cannibal or simple islander alike.
       The headhunters were making their way quickly toward the village. Their Chief was in the lead. The plump villagers awaited their fate with dread.
       Just at the moment when all looked lost, Rocks broke through the jungle and sprinted onto the beach. The frightened boy was covered head to toe in leaves and mud. He barley resembled a human. He hurtled into the pack of cannibals. He didn't have time to stop or swerve. He really couldn't see anyway. Rocks hit the cannibal chieftain at full speed. A sickening crack sounded as the two smacked heads. The Chieftain drooped like a stone. Rocks stumbled around, clutching his head, before slipping into blissful unconsciousness.
       The rest of the cannibals watched the spectacle in awe. They could not believe that their leader had been defeated so easily. The villagers starred on in amazement. They didn't know what was going on.
       Things might still have gone badly had the pack of wild boars not burst from the jungle seconds later. The beasts tore into the closest cannibals. Tusks ripped, and hooves trampled without mercy. The cannibals left standing after the first pass turned tail and headed back for the boats, all the time screaming the name of Racaanebla. The god of vengeance had come. The wild boars saw the fleeing humans and chased them down the beach.
The cannibals leapt into their boats and started paddling. Those that didn't make it in time splashed into the water and began swimming. None of them ever looked back. They knew that Racaanebla had claimed the island of Wanapuakiki for his own.
       The villagers didn't know what to make of the chaotic scene. Some cheered, some cried, and some ran away screaming. Hours later, when they finally got the nerve to check the inert body of the god that had saved them, they found that it was none other than Rocks. They carried the bruised body back to the Chief's hut and cleaned as much of the mud away as they could. A special village council was held to discuss the events of the day. It was universally decided that Rocks was in fact the god, Racaanebla, born in human form. They prepared a special hut for him where they could give him the proper respect.
       Four days elapsed before Rocks finally regained consciousness. He had dreamed the entire time of his fondest wishes. It was four days of blissful solitude and peace.
       When Rocks woke up, the unfamiliar surroundings confused him. He never remembered having been in this hut before. As he sat up, he heard a cry sound from the door and the sound of running footsteps. Someone was yelling something, but he could not make it out. His head throbbed mercilessly. He winced as he felt the huge bump on his head.
       Rocks eventually stumbled to his feet. He couldn't lie there forever, as much as he wanted to. Nature called. He woozily made his way to the door and opened the flap. The sun blinded him temporarily as he stepped into the doorway.
       The shout that greeted him nearly scared him half to death.
       "Praise Racaanebla! Long live Rocobuludrau!"
       The entire village was gathered in front of the strange hut. Rocks' mother stood at the forefront with the Chief and Vavaloa. His mother was smiling, and tears streamed down her chubby face.
       The entire crowd waited in anticipation. Rocks didn't know what was going on. He just stood there starring in amazement. It took a long while, but the crowd finally realized that Rocks was not going to say anything. The Chief motioned Vavaloa forward. Rocks could never remember the bully being scared of anything, but he now had a look of terror in his eyes.
       Vavaloa cleared his throat. "Mighty Racaanebla, please accept this humble temple as an offering to your greatness. We will do everything in our power to see that your every need is met."
       Rocks glanced from side to side. "Are you talking to me?" he finally asked in bewilderment.
       Vavaloa looked stricken. "Please don't be angry with us, mighty Racaanebla. We will do whatever it takes to make you happy. If you need to go somewhere, we will carry you. If you are hungry, we will feed you. One of us will always be at your side to fulfill your every wish."
       It took a while to sink in, but Rocks eventually caught on. "You think that I am a god?"
       The villagers took this as a statement of fact rather than a question. They all bowed as one.
       Rocks felt stunned. Anyone else might have tried to convince the villagers that they were mistaken, or, more likely, played the fools for all they were worth. Not Rocks. The only thing he could think about was that he might never be alone again. All of his dreams of solitude and peace came crashing down. He responded the only way he knew how.
       Rocks ran away screaming. The villagers never found out why.

                                                         -The End-