Raven Steals the Sun


Many, many years ago the world was covered in darkness. There was no warmth, only a constant sense of damp coldness.
The sun did not hang high in the sky. There were no flames and there was no relief from the black ink that smothered the world.
The people of the Earth were miserable in the cold and darkness. They could not see and would lose their way. They would become hopelessly lost and most spent their lives alone, unable to find others and drenched in sadness.
The white raven could see better than most in the shadowy days and nights. Through the murkiness he flew. He wailed from the sadness of the people he found alone.
But then one day, he found a old man who was never sad at all.
The raven watched him and longed to discover how this man managed to never be filled with despair.
After many days he saw the man quietly open a metal box in his hut. As the lid was raised, a blinding light poured out. With a set of metal tongs the man pulled a yellow, glowing ball from the box and the hut was drenched in light. Colors the raven had never seen were suddenly alive. The hut was no longer cold but filled with warmth.
The old man laughed and smiled and played with the glowing ball.
“Now,” the old man said. “I will put you away my little sun for you are mine and I will not share you nor the joy you contain.”
The raven was clever and knew what to do.
He waited for the old man to turn his back. Then the raven flew into the hut, opened the box and pulled the sun out with his beak.
The old man screamed and threw rocks at the raven. The raven was brave. The raven stole the sun.
He flew from the hut and the light and the warmth spilled across the world.
Higher and higher he flew. The sun’s flames scorched his beautiful white feathers until they turned a somber shade of black.
Surely, the raven would die if he went any higher.
But he kept flying. He would not stop.
His wings gave out.
He released the sun.
He fell to the earth.
He was no more.
But the sun is still there.
A gift, stolen by the raven to light the world and rid it of its darkness and misery.

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Half a Glass


They say there are two types of people in the world:

Those that see the glass half empty and then those that see the glass as half full.

But this isn’t really accurate.

You see, these things actually fall along a spectrum.

Some will see the half glass of water and instantly say:

What the fuck? Where is the rest of my water? Who fucking drank my shit? Who ripped me off?

Then they will blame the nearest person for what they believe to be an additional half glass of water that is owed to them.

They will yell and scream and pick up that glass and throw it against the wall. 

The shards of glass on the floor and the water stained wall and puddle on the tile? That’s not their fault. It is the fault of who ever was handing out water and noe it is also their fault that they are dieing of thirst.

That’s one end of the spectrum and it’s a miserable way to be.

On the other end, some people are overjoyed by having half a glass of water. Hell, they remember all the times they had no water and we’re aching to slake their thirst.

They lift the glass of water into the air and sing praises to the water. And while they are thirsty, they carefully cover the glass and save it and wait until they “really need it” and maybe it will rain and they can take the glass outside and the heavens will bless them further by making the glass over flow…

Aren’t they lucky? 

Well, no, they are also thirsty and are too stupid to simply enjoy what they have. They save it out of fear of never seeing water again.

Opposite ends of the spectrum.

Equally thirsty.

Suffering in their own self-induced way.

The better way to be?

We’ve got half a glass of water. Let’s share it. You take a sip. I’ll take a sip. It will be nice. This is what water is for. It’s here to drink. We can find more when we need it. Let’s just enjoy it, together. 

All of us.