When Allister was a young man (In his twenties, I would say) and going to school at the local university (Local U. they called it), he used to crave a journey. He never knew where exactly. He just knew he craved some new terrain. When this happened, Allister did the same thing. He climbed atop the highest mountain in the city (Mount Local). He would face north, put his hand in his pocket, and pull out a flat rock that he had picked out from the base of the mountain. He would squeeze down on the rock and feel its grooves and such. And, then, he would draw his arm back and launch the rock as far as he could throw it. Wherever he saw the rock disappear, Allister would travel. He would begin his journey that second.
For years, he used this same method until one day he realized he was just seeing the same place over and over again. He could only throw so far and, while always facing north seemed symbolic in some strange way, it also hindered the choice of destination for the stone. At first, he just changed the direction he was facing. But, soon enough, he had seen every town in every radius of his throw.
He built a catapult, but decided against using it when he realized he might be visiting a town where only moments ago one of its residents was killed by his stone. It made Allister question his whole traveling policy in general. He wondered how many people he might have killed already. Sure, the velocity of his throw was probably not enough to kill anyone on its own. But, adding the height of the mountain and the wind (Local Wind), who knew how lethal each rock he had tossed had been. And, with the amount of trips taken, the death toll had the potential to be massive and spread all around the mountain, leaving no town untouched in his stone's throw radius.
Allister grieved for days and, finally, did what he considered the only choice. He turned himself into the police (The Local Police Department) and admitted to all the unsolved murders and property damage (Realizing in a fit of realization that flying stones can do more than bodily harm.) in the designated mountain radius. The Local Police refused to arrest him or charge him of any crime. Pulling a dusty file from a cabinet, they explained to Allister that no one had been murdered in that radius in over fifty years. Allister admitted to those murders in desperation, but to no avail. They would not handcuff him or put him behind bars. He pleaded and cried, but they led him outside and left him to cry alone in the street.
Allister searched his soul in vain for some way to reconcile or punish himself. But, he could find none. So, he became a monk, took a vow of silence and to never dream again (For, in his mind, it was not fair for him to dream after ending so many other people's dreams). He would have given up hoping, too, but one of the monks told Allister he did not think that was an option. And for years, all Allister did was make jam and hope-that someday he would feel free of guilt so he could dream again.
For years, he used this same method until one day he realized he was just seeing the same place over and over again. He could only throw so far and, while always facing north seemed symbolic in some strange way, it also hindered the choice of destination for the stone. At first, he just changed the direction he was facing. But, soon enough, he had seen every town in every radius of his throw.
He built a catapult, but decided against using it when he realized he might be visiting a town where only moments ago one of its residents was killed by his stone. It made Allister question his whole traveling policy in general. He wondered how many people he might have killed already. Sure, the velocity of his throw was probably not enough to kill anyone on its own. But, adding the height of the mountain and the wind (Local Wind), who knew how lethal each rock he had tossed had been. And, with the amount of trips taken, the death toll had the potential to be massive and spread all around the mountain, leaving no town untouched in his stone's throw radius.
Allister grieved for days and, finally, did what he considered the only choice. He turned himself into the police (The Local Police Department) and admitted to all the unsolved murders and property damage (Realizing in a fit of realization that flying stones can do more than bodily harm.) in the designated mountain radius. The Local Police refused to arrest him or charge him of any crime. Pulling a dusty file from a cabinet, they explained to Allister that no one had been murdered in that radius in over fifty years. Allister admitted to those murders in desperation, but to no avail. They would not handcuff him or put him behind bars. He pleaded and cried, but they led him outside and left him to cry alone in the street.
Allister searched his soul in vain for some way to reconcile or punish himself. But, he could find none. So, he became a monk, took a vow of silence and to never dream again (For, in his mind, it was not fair for him to dream after ending so many other people's dreams). He would have given up hoping, too, but one of the monks told Allister he did not think that was an option. And for years, all Allister did was make jam and hope-that someday he would feel free of guilt so he could dream again.
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