Tales Of a Blooming World

In these lands, there once lived a people. A very wise people. A people not greedy. Not for gold nor gems. There was only one thing they sought to attain. Immortality. Escaping death’s inescapable grasp is what they dedicated any and everything to. The young were taught at a very early age what the elderly already knew, so they might one day assist in the research. Science was not the only way these people attempted to achieve their ultimate goal, however. Prayers and meditation were just as important to them.



And so every single person among them spent all their time trying to have more time to spend. Every single person except one. An old man whose time was already nearing its end. An old man who looked back at what he had spent his time on and realized he did not care for eternal life. He did not wish to witness a world wilt. Instead, he wished to witness one bloom. And so, with the last bit of time he had left, he ventured out into the world to witness as much color as possible. He went on hundreds of journeys, met thousands of people, and saw more of life than any of his people could have ever dreamt of. When he returned, he was filled with color and had a thousand tales to tell.

However, he had no one to tell them to, for back at home, people considered him a traitor for leaving them. And so, the old man had no choice but to live alone in his house and wait for death to arrive. When it eventually did, he welcomed it with open arms instead of running away like all those that came before him. He did not fear death, for he knew he had already seen enough color to last him till the end of time and beyond. Death had never witnessed someone be this comfortable with the thought of an ending. And the old man was not just comfortable with the thought. He fully embraced it. This confused death immensely, and it was unsure how to act.

Noticing death’s hesitation, the old man offered it a cup of fine sake and asked if he could tell one of his many tales. He explained that this was obviously his last chance to share them, and no one had ever cared to listen. Fascinated by this mortal that acted like none other, death agreed. They both sat down, and the old man began telling his tales. They sat and drank together for hours and hours, and when the old man’s time was finally up, death decided to spare him as an appreciation of his courage and color. It told him it would return in a month’s time, but when it did, the old man only had even more tales to tell. And yet again, death spared him.

This cycle would continue for many years to come, and legend has it that to this very day, the two still meet up on the first of every month to share a drink, a tale, and a bit of color. So the next time you’re out and about, and you spot a stunning sunset, raise a mug and remember it well. For what is life without color? What is our time without our tales?